


How To Get Away With Murder

by haloslove



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Attempted Murder, Bottom Harry Styles, Cuddling, Dark Louis Tomlinson, Drug Use, Falling In Love, Hand Jobs, Kissing, M/M, Making Out, Murder, Music, Plot Twists, Random hotel, Slow Burn, Soft Harry Styles, Top Louis Tomlinson, be careful theres serious stuff here, but oh well, getting close to kill each other but falling in love, i probably forgot some tag, possibly (?) smut probably though
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-14 15:34:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 24,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29420919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/haloslove/pseuds/haloslove
Summary: "And why do you fancy me so much?" Styles inquires, genuinely curious on why Louis has so much damn interest in him.Louis raises an eyebrow at the man sitting on his bed in front of him, glass in hand that- if he takes a drink of the liquid inside- will end his life. "Well, Styles, you interest me. You're no one like I expected."Harry chuckles at that, low and raspy. "And what did you expect?"Now it's Louis' turn to laugh. It feels bizarre to him, this whole situation, standing in front of the man who's life he's going to end and talking to the man about why Louis fancies him."Honestly? I don't know."An AU where Louis is hired to kill Harry Styles- a man he knows nothing about. He expected Styles to be egotistical, insolent, heartless. What he didn't expect was to fall in love with him.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 4
Kudos: 17





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> Before I start this fanfic I just wanted to write something with some warnings and a note.
> 
> First off, thank you for taking your time to read this! I will update accordingly to me, not making any promises on when updates will come because I want to do my best writing. I've been a bit stressed with school lately and my mental health isn't great so updates may take longer, but when they come I promise they won't be short (I don't like short chapters.).
> 
> Sorry that the cover and title is so shitty I really couldn't think of anything and suck at making covers. 
> 
> Warnings: 
> 
> There will be descriptions of blood, death, guns, knives, and drugs. These are heavy topics so please don't proceed in reading this if you cannot handle these. There will also be harsh language.There will also be smut included.
> 
> Obviously, from the description, this fanfiction is about Louis who is hired to kill Harry. If that topic is sensitive or something you don't want to read do not continue with this book. 
> 
> With all that said, I hope you enjoy this fanfiction :)

"Well, Tomlinson?" The man's voice echos off of the walls, booming deeply through the dingy hotel room in the middle of Doncaster where he and the infamous 'Louis Tomlinson' are conversing.

Louis doesn't know if he should agree to this. Sure, he offered to do this, but he's never actually killed someone. He's drugged a few people, made some pass out and delivered them to where he was told, but he's never gone as far as to end their life. He's not quite sure if he can pull this off. From the brief description he'd just been told, Styles is a mysterious, rich man that can't be trusted, often buying his ways out of issues. It seems as though many people know of Styles, but there aren't many positive conversations or mentions of him. The man is peculiar, rich from a source unknown by most. If Louis knew nothing about Styles except that he was rich but no one knew why or how, he'd guess he was in the drug business- or still is. But Louis knows enough about this Styles, and though it might not be a lot, he knows enough to know Styles is a prideful man, too full of pride to not work his way from the bottom to the top in some boring, drab office room working hours on end for his 'well-earned money'.

Louis knows he's good at luring people in, getting them to trust him, but he's not sure if he can do that well enough to kill someone- not like he'd admit to that. He's too highfalutin for that.

If Louis was less confident in his abilities, he might've just turned down the job. But his confidence is at it's peak, so how could he resist? He can just imagine what the reporters and newspapers would say. "Harry Styles, one of the richest men in the United Kingdom, brutally murdered by none other than Louis Tomlinson."

No one would recognize his name, but Louis liked to dream.

He looks over the man, eyes racing over his slim body up to his set face, jaw tight, dark sunglasses covering his eyes. It's much harder for Louis to read this man then it usually is, but then again he's got a very generic face, his controlled, composed image held up well. Louis admires that. He's good at being composed and even better at pretending, putting on a fake act for others, luring them in and gaining their trust. After years of doing so, Louis has come to the conclusion it's one of the only things he's great at. 

He opens his mouth to speak, hesitating a bit, mind whirring with unknown possibilities of what could happen.

What if this all goes wrong? He doesn't even know who Styles is. What if he's some secret officer who coaxes in hit men to arrest them? Louis knows that sounds absurd, but his mind has always come up with the oddest "what-if's".

He sucks in a hesitant breath. Come on, Tomlinson. You got this. Easy pees-y. Lemon squeez-y. Easiest thing ever. You're a natural.

"I'll do it," He bellows.

A smile breaks out across the man's strict face at those words, turning into a proper grin as he moves to wrap an arm around Louis, patting him on the shoulder. "Great! Great. This is wonderful news. You've gotta be careful with Styles, though. He's dangerous." The man gives Louis a hard look before he's back to that bone-shaking smile. It makes Louis' head hurt.

"I will be, Jack. No need to worry," Louis shoots, a bit agitated as he slightly glares at the man. Why is he warning him? Does he not have belief in Louis and how well he can do this job? Jack doesn't know that Louis has never killed someone, and though he has drugged a few people and robbed a few snobby rich folk, he's not very practiced in the realm of being a hit-man. He's overly confident, nonetheless, taking full offence. 

"I know, I know Tomlinson. Just warning you. I know you're good, but Styles?" He says his name in a question, facial expression changing immediately into one that looks almost like fear. "Styles is better."

Louis lets his face contort into a look of confusion, for once not bothering to mask his emotions. "Is Styles a hit-man of some sorts? You know that won't go well. I'll need some assistance."

The man just shakes his head, getting fidgety with Louis' questions. He toys on the rubber band secured around his wrist, pulling it up and letting go, the snap of the rubber connecting with his skin the only noise in the silent room. A few more snaps and the man's ready to speak. "No, no. Styles isn't someone like that, he's just...tricky. I've heard rumors. Just be careful with him." Jack sighs, letting a grimace take over his face at Louis' still perplexed expression. He wishes Louis wasn't confused, but he doesn't plan on telling Louis the things he knows about Styles. Louis doesn't need to know things about Styles, that'll just worry him and make him less assertive. 

Louis nods, lip bitten between his teeth. Bad habit. "Alright. I understand." His face is back to it's masked version, per the usual, closed lips and glossed eyes, mind in some different realm of planning and thinking. Thinking of ways to interact with Styles. Planning on where he'll do the deed. Thinking about what could go wrong. Thinking about what could go right.

"I have his file right here." Jack turns around, spinning on his heel to grab a beige-colored file seated on the dresser. He picks it up delicately, like it's some type of wilted flower, the possibility of it falling apart at any second quite high. He walks around to Louis, presenting him with the file, feet close together, standing a bit too close to Louis for his liking. Louis picks it up out of Jack's hands, giving him a weird look before stepping away, opening the hotel door.

"Goodbye, Jack. I'll contact you once I've done my job." Louis opens the folder, letting his eyes skim over the first page. Nothing much peaks his interest, little information about the man he must kill on the page. One thing does catch his eye, though, which is where Styles will be tonight. He'll be at the Savoy Hotel, staying for a few days with some other business men. Louis' job is to get in, do what he needs to do, and get out. That simple. He looks back at Jack, smirk set on his lips. This is going to be easier than he thought.

With that thought in his head Louis closes the door and rushes down the hallway, into the elevator and outside into the fresh air, breathing in deeply. He quickly folds the file and puts in into the waistband of his jeans when he realizes it's raining, closing his eyes to enjoy the clean smell of rain, drizzling drops dampening his hair and clothing. He hates to fold files and new paper, but he doesn't want it ruined from rain, so he does what he must.

Though it might sound crazy to some people, Louis is happy to have this job. To do what he's best at. He loves the thrill of creeping around, observing someone, careful as not to be caught. He loves the look in people's eyes right as he knocks them out to deliver them to where he was told or their choked-up cough as the drugs set in. He knows that seems proper maniacal to most, but what can he say? After years of shit he's finally in control, can finally do what he wants, can finally be free. 

Louis doesn't see himself as a psychopath. He sees himself as a misunderstood genius. 

He walks in the rain alone, the water droplets dripping from his hair as if their soul purpose was to bring a sense of ease and calm to the day. And as the rain became more intense, it began to soak the bottom of each pale blue jean leg, deepening the denim to a stronger hue, giving his white Converses a glossy water-shine. Louis loves the rain more than he could explain, the feeling of water running down to the base of his spine, chilling him to the bone so relaxing and real. Louis thinks that's why he likes it so much. Sometimes he can go into this state of mind where he's hovering over reality, feeling like he almost isn't real, but just a figment of the few people he interacts with's imaginations. He'll get caught up in that, but the feeling of something real like rain brings him back.

He really has no home, spending his time flitting around between places like a gnat, annoying people until they finally get him to leave their house or hotel or alleyway. That was often his place to stay, an alley between some family-owned restaurants or by the rubbish bins behind a fancy hotel. Sometimes he'd stay with his mate, borrow his clothes, eat some food, then be on his way, leaving a short note of gratitude. His friend didn't mind, they'd discussed Louis having a key to the apartment and coming in whenever multiple times. Louis didn't mind being "homeless", because he didn't consider himself to be that way. He got money bye flipping around from job to job, he just didn't want to by a house or hotel with the money he earned. But Louis didn't quite see a home as a place, but more of something or someone that makes you feel safe and comforted. That's something he really has never had, but he doesn't mind.

Because Louis knows he doesn't deserve that. With the things he's done, the person he is, he doesn't deserve that. He's okay with it, despite the pang he feels in his heart or the lurch in his stomach he gets every time he sees a kid in their parents' arms or a guy kissing his boyfriend. Despite the sweat of his palms and anger in his head he feels when an adult hugs their grandparents. Despite the tears that threaten to well up at the laughter of two brothers messing around with each other. 

Because, in spite of it all, he pretends those feelings aren't there. He ignores his heart, stomach and head, only listening to the small part of his head that he wants to hear. 

As Louis rounds the corner into the neighborhood that he goes through every day to get to his favorite lunch spot, thunder rumbles through the sky, a strike of lightning responding quickly after, an argument between thunder and lightning happening right in front of him, thunder yelling to lightning, lightning responding with an even louder outburst. The dark blue hues of the sky give a deep and mysterious ambiance to the neighborhood, clouds moving as the rain starts to pour, much more than the sprinkle Louis was enjoying some moments before. 

He starts running, rain soaking his clothes all the way through, him rushing past the houses, laughing at the absurdity of it all. He, Louis Tomlinson, was just hired to kill someone, and is now running through the rain, laughing like a toddler. It feels oddly ironic to him. Four year-old Louis definitely didn't see himself killing someone. He also probably didn't see himself living on the streets, but hey? What can Louis say? He's happy with how he's living now- well maybe not happy, but at least at ease with his situation. 

Making his way into his favourite pub, Louis shakes off some of the water, squeezing his clothes out before stepping in, the warm, sweet-smelling air hitting his nostrils and filling him with glee. The jingle of the bell that sounds when the door is opened sends Zayn, the store owner's eyes up, brightening at the sight of his favourite customer. 

"Louis!" He grins, skirting over to the man and engulfing him in a breath-taking hug. Louis chuckles into the man's shoulder, a bit taken aback by the embrace. It wasn't unexpected, but sweet gestures like that always surprise him. "How are you mate?" Zayn inquires, pulling back a bit to look Louis in the eyes, hands resting comfortably on the shorter guy's shoulders.

"I'm alright, thanks Zayn." Louis gives him a tight-lipped smile, almost feeling awkward even though this is his one and only mate and nothing has ever been awkward with Zayn. It's just that Louis can't help but feel guilty. He's practically already a murderer, for Christ's sake, and he knows how disgusted Zayn would be of him. Zayn wouldn't understand- he doesn't understand much of Louis, though he does give it his best shot. Zayn believes in life, peace, love, that kind of stuff. The kind of stuff Louis thinks is proper bullshit. Nothing in Louis' life was ever rainbows and butterflies, while Zayn's whole experience on this earth has been. That's where they don't get each other, don't fit perfectly, because Louis is like the chewed-up puzzle piece that your dog ruined and Zayn is the nice, just out of the box piece that is made sure to not get on the floor, in fear that it'll be chewed up and ruined. That's the best way to describe Zayn and Louis. Originally meant to fit, seemingly perfect together, but really, Louis is too messed up for that.

He doesn't tell Zayn this, how he doesn't think he understands him or how they're too different. How Louis is ruined. He doesn't want the pity.

"What'd you want for lunch?" Zayn smiles at Louis once more, keeping his hands on his shoulders. "I'll get Randy to serve you." He leads Louis over to the bar, holding him tightly by the bicep, Louis following willingly without question.

He's seated down at the bar, right next to a woman, eyes glued to her phone, face set in a serious expression as she stares at her device. Her cherry-red bottom lip is held between her chemically-whitened teeth, eyes squinted, shoulders hunched. Louis looks away from her, not interested whatsoever. Plus, staring is impolite. Plus, he's gay.

A man skips over towards Louis, grinning cheekily, hair stiffly set up in a mo-hawk with copious amounts of gel an hairspray, hair shining from the amount of product. He's clothed in a tight, black, cotton t-shirt, dark skinny jeans adding to the blandness of his outfit, counteracting his obliviously elated, pragmatic personality. His shoes, though, are what make Louis have to hold in a chuckle- not his bland outfit or overly ecstatic character. The man in front of Louis has rainbow-coloured high-tops on his feet, shimmering with specks of glitter, neon colours popping out and screaming at Louis. "What can I get you started with?"

Louis gives him another once-over before clasping his hands together, clearing his throat and making eye-contact with the man "Randy". He hasn't even glanced at the menu so he really has no clue what he wants. He does eat here often, but the menu was recently changed so he'd like to look over it before ordering what he usually does, wanting to try something new. "I'm not actually sure, I'll just start off with a water." Randy nods, giving Louis a look he's not sure what to call, then turning around, leaving Louis seated at the bar, staring down at his folded hands, feeling uncomfortable around the one place he shouldn't be. Zayn's behind the counter, pouring numerous drinks as he talks on the phone with someone who's agitating, the furrow in Zayn's brow and small frown evidence enough.

Louis patiently waits for his drink, mind drifting to what'll happen tonight. A life will be lost. Maybe something will fill Louis' heart, help him feel a bit better, more full, more satisfied. He's not sure why something like this would make him feel fitter, but he's tried so so many things that never work. Louis does wonder a bit why Jack wants Styles killed, but in the end he doesn't care. Why should he? He doesn't know Styles, he doesn't care about him, he feels no infatuation towards him, so why should he give a care? He knows Styles must've done something terrible, quite wrong for Jack to do something like this. Though Louis doesn't know Jack (he's just met the guy for fucks sake) he's heard how serious he is. He doesn't like when people mess with him, but something drastic had to have happened for him to hire a hit-man. Usually Jack'd just brush it off, convince the person who troubled him to give him money, or sue them. He always won. He never needed to go as far as ending someone's life, but it seems he does now.

Randy comes back over a good few minutes later, Louis having had looked over the menu and decided on not getting anything but some chips. He's not too hungry anyways, plus he's too preoccupied with his thoughts to eat much at the moment. Ordering quickly he also asks for some beer, needing a bit of alcohol to slow his racing mind. 

"I'll get that started right away!" Randy exclaims, finishing jotting down Louis' order, black ink pen scratching on the lined paper of his mini-notebook. 

Louis just nods, wanting to respond but the words stuck on the tip of his tongue, instead giving Randy a very awkward thumbs-up in thanks, cringing as the server gives him a weird look and walks away, Louis positive he's silently judging him. 

Louis resorts to talking with Zayn once he's off the phone, making small talk about Zayn's family and his personal life and what he's been doing, avoiding the topic of Louis whatsoever. Zayn doesn't notice how Louis avoids talking about himself, maybe it's because he knows Louis doesn't like talking about his family, or maybe he just doesn't notice when Louis presses his lips together at the mention of Zayn's supportive dad or sweet, loving mum. 

"I'm glad it's going well with your mum. It's good news to here." Louis says this with little enthusiasm, voice lased with discomfort. He's positive Zayn's unaware of it.

"I'm glad too. I'm going to visit the girls and my parents tomorrow, actually. I'll be gone all weekend but feel free to still go to the house. Just don't through some crazy ass party or invite many people over." 

Louis scoffs. "Who do you think I have to invite over?"

Zayn chuckles, knowing his mate is right. "Good point, okay, but I'm just saying." 

Louis smiles at him, feeling a bit relaxed at the moment. It's nice. Relaxing to be relaxed.

"Here's your chips!" Randy sets the plate of crisp chips in front of Louis, smiling at Zayn widely before turning and skipping (skipping??) away, swinging his notepad back and forth. 

Louis silently gives Zayn a look of "who is this guy?", taking a few chips and shoving them into his mouth, the hot taste of salt and potato delicious on his tongue, mouth watering in appreciation. 

"Good?" Zayn questions with a smirk, pouring yet another drink for an impatient, hairy man sitting a few seats away from Louis. 

"Yeah, thanks." 

Zayn hands the man his drink, eyes fixated on Louis most of the time. Louis can tell he's itching to ask a question- Zayn's incredibly easy for him to read.

"What's up?" Louis asks, not wanting to play the "I'm going to want to ask but not actually ask" game. 

Zayn looks confused for a moment, opening his mouth before closing it once more, then opening it again, seemingly having realized what Louis was saying. "Er, oh. Um....I was just wondering if you need a job? I was gonna tell you I can hook you up at some place one of my mates told me about."

Louis' heart begins to subconsciously race like it always does when he's asked these kinds of questions. He answers like he always does. "Yeah, I got a job."

He can tell when Zayn doesn't believe him. "What kind of job?" Zayn asks, raising a plucked eyebrow at his friend seated across from him who's twiddling his thumbs as he thinks of what to respond with, stomach twisting at the thought of Zayn somehow knowing what he was jus hired to do.

Louis looks up, tight smile placed on his lips, adams apple looking more defined as it bobs in his throat. "Just a job my mate's hooking me up with. I'm not a hundred percent sure what it is." Louis finds the lie a bit fishy, even to himself, but he doesn't say anything else in fear of fucking something up badly.

Louis sees Zayn almost laugh and roll his eyes, able to read his emotions like a primary-grade level book."You're not doing anything crazy, right?" He pauses for a moment, face going soft. "You know I'm here for you. I'm not saying you'd do anything out of sorts, I'm just asking because you've been acting odd lately."

He nods, watching Zayn toy with a piece of his hair, pulling on it and then letting it release, glossy, dark waves glistening under the dim lights of the pub.

"No, I'm not," He mumbles, mind in a far off place. That's become the norm.

Zayn smiles at him, going back to pouring a drink, eyes leaving Louis' to look down at the glass. "I'm glad."

A chuckle and a fake smile next and Louis is out of the pub, rushing off in a hurry, giving Zayn a half-assed excuse about needing to meet with his friend to discuss about his new job. Zayn offers to pay for Louis' meal since it was so cheap, Louis thanking him multiple rushed times. Zayn doesn't notice Louis' odd departure, like usual, paying attention to his work and not protesting when Louis suddenly gets up and bolts out, (thankful it's stopped raining) bell that's hanging on the door chiming for many seconds after, not ceasing until Louis is yards down the street. 

Down the street and behind the pub he goes, slumping down to sit by rubbish bins, taking a moment to just breathe. He's not sure what took over him, but he needed a breath, now sitting by the rubbish bins, repulsive smell of expired food spreading around in the air, somehow calming him down. Louis thinks it's because it's something that's real, the smell. It's not a lie like this whole "job" he's told Zayn about, it's real rubbish in a real rubbish bin behind a real pub filled with real people. Louis can lie well, it's something he does often, but doing it to his close mate, his only mate, has a real outcome. No guilt comes when he lies to random people, or even to his family, but when it's to someone he cares about? The guilt that fills him weighs on him like a stone placed on a delicate feather, pressing down so much it crushes him. 

He feels weird thinking it, but real smells like rain and grass and rubbish wash a strong feeling of tranquility over him. 

He's content with not going back to talk to Zayn, spending some time sitting on the hard asphalt, reading the file about Harry Styles over and over and over again, noticing and adding new, minuscule things to his plan.

But, after twenty long, drawn-out minutes, Louis decides it's time to go do something. He ought to have some fun this afternoon, so he tucks the file back into his pants, groaning as he gets up from the hard ground, cracking his back loudly before heading off to find something to entertain him for the time before he's got to head to the hotel. He's got loads of time, at least seven hours of freedom, nothing planned and nothing expected to happen, he getting to decide how to spend this day. Louis gets to decide how he spends all of his days, but today it feels a bit different. Who knows, maybe it's because tonight he'll commit murder, or maybe it's because he's been feeling more stressed lately, worrying about money and his future more. He's still young, only twenty-one, still young enough to change his life and build a positive future. Still young enough to fuck it up. Not that his life is not already fucked up, because, in fact, it is. 

Louis struts down the street slowly, taking his time as the tap tap tap of his shoes hitting the ground creates a steady rhythm, in no rush whatsoever to do to wherever he's going- that he doesn't know. He's heading in the general direction towards town where all the music shops, thrift stories, markets, and more restaurants and pubs are, wanting to possibly visit the record shop. He's always felt connected to music, able to express himself more by listening to it and interpreting the songs. Whenever he gets a change he'll attend a music festival, usually some free one where small, local bands perform, surely not going to make it but having enjoyable music nevertheless, Louis dancing like a drunk girl with her best friends, swaying to the sensational sound traveling through the area and running through his veins. The sound of new music always brings a thrill to him, the thought of more stories to experience and more fun nights at the front of his mind, buzzing with the memories of past vivacious experiences with music.

The rain has seized, the smell of fresh, sunny air filling Louis from head to toe. The weather is quite weird in Augusts in Doncaster, going from rainy to warm and sunny to breezy and chilly. Louis absolutely loves it.

Surprisingly it doesn't take long for him to make his way to town, his slow-paced walking apparently not slow at all. He walks past a few flower boutiques, not interested in looking at random flowers, only having a small amount of pounds in his shoe, surely not enough to buy much of anything, especially with the pricing of flowers these days. He doesn't even know where he'd put them.

Past a few cheap diners and thrift stores Louis makes it to his favourite music shop (and the one and one he knows of), grinning when he sees the large "OPEN" sign lit up in red coloured lights, blinking in a one-second pattern, sign almost falling off from being there for so long. Louis pulls open the door, rust set into the handle, the smell of home he's hit with immediately bringing an even bigger smile to his face. This place and the pub are one of the few things that make him genuinely smile, a feeling of safety and comfort surrounding him when he's there. Maybe those places are his homes. A quick glance around the place tells him it's the same as before, records still lined up chaotically, shelves of CD's and music articles pressed up against the wall. 

He hears the faint noise of the Beatles playing, looking around to see the woman who's been working at the shop since Louis started visiting perched up at the front desk, book in hand. At that moment Al looks up, eyes crinkling with a grin as she hops out of her seat, making her way over to Louis.

"Hi Louis!! Its so great to see you!" The lady engulfs Louis in his second bone-crushing hug of the day, swaying them side to side as she squeezes Louis tightly. "I've missed you, boy. Where have you been?"

"I'm good, I'm good. Thanks, Al. And I've just been crazy busy. I've really missed this place too."

Al smiles, resting a hand on Louis' bicep. "Well, you know the drill. Look around, enjoy the place. Tell me when you're ready to buy anything." She lets her hand drop, taking short steps back over to the front desk where she was seated reading some book about Mozart.

He starts pacing around the empty shop, fingers flitting over the records, taking a moment to admire the ones that peek his interest.

To Louis, the shop told a story. There they were, the old record players, the gems of times past, the expressions of human souls that echo their own. All of the records and CD's told stories, separate from the tune and lyrics beneath them. Just the album cover told a story, created an image, was it's own world full of colours or darkness or love or evil or whatever anyone wants to take it to be. What really draws Louis towards art is that it can be whatever anyone wants it to be- however someone interpretates it is how it is for them. 

He wanders through the shop, taking in the curves of record, letting his brain think as perhaps the makers did. To him, each one of them was tiny time machine, or perhaps a window into other years and they ways they related to each other and this world. 

In the end he decides to buy Foo Fighters first album, clutching it safely in his arms as he strolls along, quietly humming 'Good Grief' off tune, somewhat smiling but what may appear to be more of a scowl to the people he walks by. He's in a cheery mood, for some odd reason. Most likely because he'd visited the shop after months of wanting to but not having the time or money. 

Settling to get some snack from the coffee shop across the street, stomach growling in appreciation, still hungry, having only eaten half of his chips, he enters the busy cafe, seating himself when he sees the sign saying people should do so. 

The coffee shops used to be so cloistered and close, so many tables and so little room; that was part of their charm. Now the shops are open air, a sort of covered patio with tables a respectful distance apart.

Though it's not very early the machines have yet to warm, so Louis takes this chance to rest a moment longer, to drink in the aroma of this place. The barista has tired eyes, yet there is that glimmer, a give away of her good heart. She's one of those surviving sparks, one of the ones who held on to who they really are. Louis asks for his danish to be warmed, apologizing amid his own tired smile, hoping she understands and sees his care (not that he cares, but he hopes she thinks he does- he hopes he believes the tender yet false look in his eye). 

All in all the danish is adequate, surely not the best Louis' had but he didn't expect that, so. Whatever. With having eaten and bought what satisfies him, Louis walks around town, not knowing where else to go, out of money to spend and energy to go somewhere else. He almost wants to call Zayn, but he doesn't have a phone, having gotten rid of it a few months ago after it broke, worn out from years and years of traveling and going through rough times with him.

He resorts to walking back to Zayn's place, not sure what to do for the hours he has left until....well until he goes to the hotel where he's going to kill Harry Styles. He's decided he'll use poison, knives too messy too clean up (too much blood, could leave a trace) and a gun too loud for where they'll be. Poison will be the easiest route to go, quick and silent, getting the job done well and efficiently. He doesn't really have some unlimited supply to poison, though, so he'll have to use one of the only things he knows Zayn has lying around the house: bleach. It's seems ridiculous and a bit childish to Louis, but he really has nothing else to use so he'll have to suck it up and deal with it.

He knocks on the door of Zayn's room three times, short and quick, before his roommate opens the door, frizzy, ruined-from-bleach-blonde hair a muss on his head, eyes heavy and tired, slouching a bit, hand rested on the door-frame as support. 

Louis and Niall are similar with each other, both having seen the other with Zayn, Louis often coming over when Niall's still there, not bothering to make pointless small talk. 

"Come on in," Niall grumbles, moving out of the way to let Louis in. He shuts the door behind him, loud 'bang' startling Louis, air blowing from the force of the slam. Louis knows Niall won't speak another word to him- it's how it always goes between them. He doesn't mind.

Throwing on one of Zayn's soft, black t-shirts and jeans, switching from his current pants that are littered with holes, wanting to look a tad bit presentable tonight, he brushes his teeth, staring at his reflection in the mirror, fringe tousled and messy. His mother would probably scold him for having such a mess of hair on his head. 

He doesn't tidy up his hair, actually quite satisfied with the shambolic look.

He then sits and watches football on the big TV in the living room, waiting the afternoon out as he prepares to meet Harry Styles. Tonight, everything in his life could change. Or nothing. He could do this, get the money, and never think about Styles or Jack again. But, he could also do this, get caught, and have to think about this, relive it, suffer the consequences for the rest of his life. He's surprised that he's willing to take this kind of risk. 

In just a few hours time, Louis Tomlinson, clad in some boring, unimpressive outfit will walk to the hotel where he will meet and soon after kill Harry Styles. 

He feels as ready as he thinks he ever will.


	2. 2

Louis struts through the hotel lobby, taking in the fancy wallpaper and plush carpet. It's classy in the most unclassy way possible. It has all the corporate taste for opulent items without the slightest touch of personality - those little out of sync items that makes decor "human." The deep brown floor shines as well any polished glass. There are flowers, beautiful, the perfect shade of orange to compliment the woody hues and creams. On closer inspection their stamens have been pulled to prevent even the pollen disturbing the perfect sheen on the mahogany pedestal tables.

A burly man stands at the front desk, typing away manically on his computer, white-framed glasses falling down his crooked nose. Louis knows immediately that it's not Harry. He's looked at the picture of Styles in the file enough to know his exact facial features, from the way his curls fall into his face, the bridge of his nose, his angular cheek bone, and the glinting green of his eyes to his long, muscular legs, large feet usually in Chelsea boots. Louis walks up to the man with sanguinity, pulling his best fake-smile.

"Hello, sir. I have reserved a room for four nights under the name Jack Brigdens." Louis uses his most posh voice he can, knowing that rich people like the ones in this hotel won't respect anyone but the most polite, affable people. He's thankful Jack got him a room (he called him from Zayn's phone just to make sure), not wanting to have to make up some bizarre lie to get into the hotel.

The man looks up from his computer for what Louis thinks must be a millisecond before grumbling low in his throat and going back to work, fully ignoring Louis' request.

Fucking pricks rich people are. They drive Louis insane.

"Well? May I have the key to my room?" He laces his voice with a bit of impertinence, hoping it'll get his point across.

The man huffs, agitated for no apparent reason, leans down to grab the key from a small, plastic bin, and tosses it to Louis without a word. Louis assumes the room was paid for ahead of time- that's something Jack would do, especially knowing that Louis doesn't have enough money to pay for a fancy hotel room. He catches the keep and rolls his eyes, not in the mood to argue with impertinent people.

He strolls down the hallway, swinging the key to his room in hand, looking over the long, narrow hallways, paintings of humans screaming out at him, bright and detailed. If he could he'd spend hours observing the paintings, absorbing the finest details there are, but, he doesn't have time, so instead he rushes into the elevator, giving his favorite painting one more quick glance before pressing the button to close the elevator doors. Its is a plain sliver box with plain silver buttons and plain silver doors. Louis guesses it's the perfect surround if he was the picture within.

Up to the third floor he goes, tapping his foot on the cold floor as he waits for the elevator to stop, suddenly nervous. He re-positions the vile of bleach hidden away in his jeans pockets, unnoticeable when he pulls his jacket (Zayn's jacket) down over it. He's got this. It'll all be done and over with in no time. Jack will be pleased, Louis with the money he wanted, both of them content with the idea of never speaking again. He gets to his room, opening the creaky door and peering in. It's a smaller room than Louis had expected, just a twin bed, white duvet neatly tucked, small dresser seated right next to it against the wall, empty drawers hanging open. The room is lit in lamp-light glow, electric rays spreading as petals upon the walls. A light-brown carpet covers the whole floor, soft and plush on Louis' hands as he bends down to touch it. He enters the room all the way, shutting the door quietly behind him, tip-toeing into the room as though he's sneaking into Styles' dwelling and not his own. He takes a seat on the bed, sinking into the soft, plush mattress, letting out a relaxed sigh. Now, all he's got to do is slip the bleach in Styles' drink. He'll come up with something ingenious, he knows it. But, right now, lying on the most comfortable bed Louis' has ever felt, he can't even think of creating a plan. It'll just have to wait a bit. Plus, he got to the hotel an hour before Styles is supposed to arrive, so he's got loads of time to lie around and be lazy.

\---

Styles opens the door after Louis' third knock, whipping it open with a cross force, eyebrows knitted at the sight of someone standing outside of his door, cart overflowing with cleaning supplies by their side, disturbing him from his duties. Louis lets his eyes roam over Harry, his beauty more exquisite in real life. His deep, green eyes glint with the light, face still set in a surprised look as Louis checks him out with no shame, looking from his long, unruly hair to his large hands, grasped together in front of him. Louis notices everything, from the mole on Styles' chin to the deep red color of his lips, darker than it looked in the pictures. His arms are also more buff, muscles defined even from under his formal dress shirt. Styles raises an eyebrow at Louis, running a hand through his curls before clasping them back together, lips tugging down into a slightly confused frown. Good. Styles doesn't know him. Louis didn't think the man would, since Louis has a very un-recognizable face and rarely speaks with new people, but the possibility of him having knocked into Harry at the market or on the bus wasn't one-hundred percent impossible.

"Hello, Mr. Styles. I'm just here to clean the bathtubs. I was told to do a deep clean of every one in every room." The lie falls from Louis' mouth easily, like rain out of the clouds on a stormy day. Louis had found the carts piled with cleaning items in a closet a few steps away from his room, grabbing one and chuckling at how easy this is going to be for him.

Styles hums, possibly not believing the man in front of him. Louis can't tell. Harry threads his fingers together, pulling them to make them pop with a loud 'crack'. He smiles nicely (why? Louis wonders) as he takes a small step towards Louis, resting his hand on the small dresser that's leaned up against the wall, right by the door. "Alright," He says rather cheerfully, eyes crinkling with the smile. He seems friendly enough, but Louis can't quite tell if it's real. "Come on in." He moves out of the way for Louis to come in, stepping over, eyes still locked on Louis as the shorter man walks towards the bathroom. Louis hadn't noticed how tall Styles is, but now he sees that the man is a good three or four inches taller, towering over Louis with his wide-eyes and set frown.

Louis walks into the somber, faded restroom, looking around at the dull wallpaper and dirt-covered floors, wondering why a guy like Harry came to a hotel like this and chose the cheapest, smallest room for his stay. He's slightly confused why such a damn expensive hotel has bathrooms of this quality, but then again the quality of the restrooms is probably not shouted from the rooftops. Louis is guessing people have to pay in advance and get ripped-off with crappy bathrooms. At least the rooms are nice.

He can tell that Harry is right behind him, having followed with loud steps as Louis wheeled his cart over and placed it to the left of the door to the restroom.

Styles doesn't stare at Louis or watch him start working, but instead kneels down next to Louis, towel in hand. He looks at Louis, mouth tilted up before spraying a bit of bleach on the bathtub and scrubbing the sides, leaning half of his body over the side of the tub to reach the other better. Louis gawks at him, honestly shocked at Styles' behavior. Why in the world is he cleaning with him? It's not like he's getting paid to do this.

The intense smell of bleach almost makes Louis laugh. How fucking ironic. (Is that the word? Louis doesn't know).

They don't speak a word to each other, just clean the tub until it's pristine, looking brand new. Louis bumps into Styles a few times, shoulder hitting his as he leans over to grab the cleaning or moves to rub a stain, giving Styles a (falsely) sorrowful glance before returning back to work. There's many stains patterned on the sides and floor of the bathtub, but it's nothing a quick round of scrubbing with bleach won't fix. 

Only then, after Louis has stood up and stretched out his legs, finished with his job does Styles speak, mumbling something about going to get food before jumping (yes, jumping, he literally jumped up from off of the ground) up and leaving the bathroom. Louis assumes that means he'd left the hotel, but when he comes out of the restroom to see Harry perched on his bed, he is proven wrong. Cursing himself in his head for not convincing Styles to leave the room somehow, Louis grabs the cart, making his way out of the room. He'll look too suspicious if he stays in the room with Styles- Harry would probably kick him out anyways.

"Thank you for the clean of the tub. It was needed." Styles smiles at a confused Louis, cheery and seemingly not noticing Louis' mystified expression. He just doesn't get it. Why in the world is he being so friendly? Maybe Louis is too used to unkind words and rude attitudes, but this odd amount of kindness seems weird and out of place to him. Harry almost seems like he belongs in some alternate universe where everyone is jolly and kind and full of glee. Louis would die if he lived in that world- he already suffers enough over-exaggerated happiness in his not-so-happy life.

"Of course. I agree." Plain respond, but effective nonetheless.

With a curt nod Louis is out of the room, sighing at the not even attempt to kill Styles. Whatever. He's got all the time in the world. Well, really only three days, that's how long the hotel stay is, but still. It's enough time for him to mess up a bit. 

Louis is back in his room after wheeling the cart back to it's closet, now in a piqued mood because of that whole odd, ruined interaction. He's still quite curious on why Jack wants Harry out of this world so badly- Styles seems like a decent guy, at least from Louis' prospective. He seemed a bit wary of Louis at first, but smiled at him later and cleaned the bathroom with him even though he didn't ask for help. And if Louis looks at the situation seriously, Styles wasn't being very overly friendly. He just isn't used to that behavior from a person he just met.

He'd call Jack if he had a phone (he really should get one), but, since he doesn't, he'll have to resort to going to see him. Louis didn't think about it before, but maybe he should know why he's being hired to kill someone. He just can't help his curiosity. Maybe Louis'll visit Jack early tomorrow morning- he has Jack's address memorized (he knows that might be a bit creepy, but what can he say? He asked Jack for his address the day they met and Jack gave it over willingly, already trusting Louis enough to reveal that piece of information.), or maybe he'll stop by Zayn's place and ask to borrow one of his spare phones. Zayn's the kind of person who has at least three old iPhones lying around just in case they're needed.

Louis cuddles up under the warm duvet, breathing in the fresh scent of linen and flowers, curling up in a ball (his favourite sleeping position) and drifting off into a hazy sleep-like daydream, imagining the sheer amount of vinyls he could buy with all of the money he will get for killing Styles. 

\---

Louis wakes up with a case of throbbing head and sore throat. He diagnoses himself with a headache and throat sore from lack of water. 

That's already gotten him into a bad state of mind.

He's irritated enough at his weak (honestly can't even be considered) attempt at getting Styles out of this universe and to wherever the souls go after death. Louis doesn't believe in any religion, but he also hasn't looked into many. All he knows is people are born, most exist to go out and experience boring, pointless lives, passing away and leaving without having made any impact on anything whatsoever. Most people don't live in this world, but just float around like mere particles in the universe, there to do none and experience none other than the simplicity of eating and breathing.

That's quite the opposite of how Louis wants to experience life. He wants to live, experience everything he can, be happy and healthy and adventurous- but he can't be. Because he understands the world. He knows most here is not fun and games, most people don't get the luxury of happiness or love. The few who do get those don't deserve it. 

Louis is realistic, maybe too much so, but that's just how he's been his whole life. He was never one to believe anyone could do anything they put their mind to. He's not someone who believes in soulmates or is some fucking hopeless romantic. That kind of mindset would probably make him depressed, really. He'd be pining and wishing for a life he'll never achieve. 

What he knows he can achieve, though, is killing Styles. He just needs to not let his curiosity get the better of him.

That's something that is very difficult for him to do. Louis just can't help his curiosity, his want to know things, his need to know who people are and who they fight with and who they dislike. He's torn between killing Styles without asking Jack a thing, getting it done quickly, or questioning Jack about Styles and then doing his job. Either way he'll go through, he promises that. He's not going to give up. Not like he always has. He's not going to run or get scared or worried or anything. He's going to do this and in the end, everything will be alright.

But he still wants to know more about Styles.

Who is he?

Why does Jack want him dead? If he could have one question answered, that's the one he wants to be.

Whatever. Not whatever, though. He wants to know. Whatever. It's not that important.

But.

\---

Louis ends up outside of Jack's house.

He just needs to know. 

One knock on the white-painted door is all it takes for it to be opened, Jack standing in polka-dot pajamas, tea mug with the words 'World's Best Dad' printed in bold black letters on the front, confusion laced on his face as he takes in a winded Louis who just ran fucking what- three miles? Three miles to Jack's house.

"Hi," he breathlessly gets out, chuckling at how crazy he must seem. "We need to talk a bit. About Styles."

Jack sighs, seeming a bit relieved (probably at the fact that Louis is here to merely talk about Styles and didn't get caught or in trouble of some sorts), chuckling incredulously. "Alright. Come on in."

Louis follows him into the living room, sitting down swiftly on the love seat as Jack sits on the couch next to him, sinking down into the plush cushions. He props his elbow up on the side of the couch, resting his head in that hand. Louis watches him as he gets situated in his own spot, moving from letting his legs hang down to curling them up on the seat with him, finally getting in a pleasant position of one leg dangling off of the seat and the other tucked inwards, touching his thigh that's covered with the tight denim material of his jeans.

"So, what brings you here?"

Louis taps his fingers lightly on the side of his knee, creating a rhythm. It's quite calming. "Well, I've got some questions for you. About Styles."

Jack doesn't seem surprised, but merely content, waiting for Louis to speak up.

So Louis does just that.

"I just want to know some things- about Styles, that is. Who is he? Why do you want him dead?" Louis stops at two questions. No need to ask everything right now.

Louis adores the room as he waits for Jack's response, looking from the pitcher rested on the small coffee table next to his chair to the patterned carpet. The dark room, even the ticking from the old grand clock had a relaxed feeling, as if it was a heart-beat at rest. Louis felt as if the air moved like cool water and the aroma of Jack's scented candles infused him far more deeply than it did in the light of day. In the twilight the fabrics were muted hues, as if they too awaited dawn to ignite their colours for all to see.

The candles scattered on the counter in the kitchen which was just a door away were a pleasant surprise, aromas seeping through and into the room where Louis and Jack are seated. It's all oddly calming and not what Louis imagined Jack's home would be like. 

Then, Jack sighs, bringing Louis back to his focus. "Well, you see, there's a lot about Styles that you don't want to know. Don't need to know." Pause. It's a bit longer than Louis things is necessary. "Styles....well, he's not your average guy. He's a man of many talents. Quite nice, actually."

"I noticed."

Jack continues. "Well, Styles and I....we have a history together. We've known each other for some time. We used to be close friends, actually. We grew apart when he moved away to work at some oil company his uncle owns- you know how much money those type of companies make. That's really where he got all of his welfare. But, we have more of a rough past." He stops there for a moment, peering out of the window, eyes unfocused. Louis can tell there's something bothering him- the subject of Styles is touchy. "He stole something from me. Something incredibly valuable and important to me. That is why I want him dead." Jack stops with that, looking as if he's biting his tongue, wanting to say more, but Louis doesn't push.

Louis clears his throat. Always so awkward in these kind of situations. "Alright. I'm sorry for storming in, that wasn't very professional of me. I just was curious and felt the need to know." 

Jack waves his hand, shaking his head with the movement. "No, no, really, it's fine, Louis. I understand curiosity and am happy to answer your questions if needed."

"Thank you. May I ask another question?"

"Of course."

Just as Louis' is about to let the question slip he notices a small hole in the wall, so small it's almost not visible, but just big enough it stands out and catches Louis' eye. He focuses on the small, bullet-sized hole in the wall. There's no question how that got there. He sucks in a breath, regaining focus away from the hole and back to Jack. There's no need to contemplate over a bullet-hole in the wall of the man you're working for. It's none of his business anyways. Louis is sure it's probably just a hole from some nail or something of the sorts. Yeah. Makes sense.

"I was wondering where Styles lives."

Jack simply raises an eyebrow. "Elaborate on why you want to know this?" He says, more of a question.

"Well, I'm planning to kill Styles within the few days he's at the hotel, but, if something- or someone- prevents me from doing so, I may need to know. Or possibly his work place."

"I won't question how you do this or where-" A stern glare is suddenly thrown from Jack to Louis. He seems even more serious than before. "-but I want this to be done by tomorrow. Tops. It shouldn't take you long, Tomlinson. You don't need to know where he lives or works, just get it done before he leaves the hotel. You have two days left to complete this." Jack's eyes darken with a deep emotion Louis can't quite pinpoint, yet it scares him to the core. "Don't disappoint. Consequences await."

Louis nods curtly. "I understand. He'll be gone by the day after tomorrow, I'll make sure of it."

Jack smiles his bright, toothy smile. Louis hates it. "Good. Now, would you like to stay for breakfast? Or are you going back to the hotel?"

"I'll actually be heading back to the hotel now. Might as well see if I can get Styles to eat breakfast with me or something." 

Jack stands up, stretching out his arms in front of him. "Okay. Good luck with Styles. I believe in you, Tomlinson." Louis smiles. He's totally got this. "You got this." 

"Yeah," Louis breathes. "I got this."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiii I don't have much to say. Sorry if this is shorter than expected or this took too long to get out. I'm not sure how fast people are expected to update and I'm trying to write at a pace that doesn't stress me out too much.


	3. 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings:
> 
> mentions of painkillers, overdosing on painkillers, selling drugs, weed, really just talking about and planning death and murder the whole time (obviously) 
> 
> I'm so sorry for not updating for something like two weeks. I've been busy and was reading collision (and also a new series of real books that aren't fanfic that I started... really just not writing much) but I wrote a chapter of almost 11k which I hope makes up for the late update. I tried to edit my best but I wanted to update so I apologize for any grammar or spelling mistakes.

Louis rushes down the hallway, dressed in a nice, casual outfit, tight jeans hugging his thighs quite nicely (he found them in the laundry room and decided to borrow them), Nirvana t-shirt (also borrowed) baggy on his arms. He's just gotten back from his talk with Jack, throwing on the clothes he took and some deodorant, running rushed fingers through his hair before rushing into the room where an array of breakfast foods are laid out on a long table, hoping Styles doesn't ask what a worker is doing eating breakfast at the hotel they work at.

Louis is minding his own business, getting breakfast at the hotel when he spots Styles talking with some man, surely one for the business meeting. Styles is full of smiles and giggles, almost flirting with the man, wearing fucking purple pajama bottoms and bunny rabbit slippers.

Louis takes in Styles' appearance from where he's standing, serving himself food across the room, making it look like he is only peering out of the window behind where the two men stood. He takes in his muscles, the clean shaven square jaw and tuned into his voice. He smiles with ease and makes fluid arm movements to exaggerate his buoyant speech. He can't be much over twenty-two. He has that Clarke Kent look about him, the dark hair and glasses - almost nerdy but strong. His hair is, like the night before, unruly, a mess atop his head, but he isn't touching it, just letting the curls that stop at the base of his neck sit there for a moment, untouched and unmoving.

Harry just talks with the man for a bit, laughing cutely, (Louis defines his laugh as a cute one. It reminds him of a little boy's laugh.) playing with a curl ever so casually when the man's attention veers elsewhere, Harry bringing it back to him. He's flirting, Louis can tell. He's seen boys to this before- had them act this way towards him- he's even done it a few times himself. He's quite good at flirting, in his opinion.

Watching the boy shifts something in Louis- he gets a brilliant idea.

One that will surely please Jack. One that will make his job so easy and quick.

This flirtatious, giggly boy needs to go out on a date.

And who is better to take him on one than Louis?

It's so simple. He'll charm Harry with his good looks and lure him in, convince Harry to let Louis take him on a date, and then slip something in his drink or meal. On the plus of this he'll get to have an enjoyable dinner with an enjoyable boy.

As Louis is stuck in his thoughts Harry skips over to him, Louis oblivious, too caught up in his planning. Only when Harry taps him lightly on the shoulder does he notice the boy's appearance, eyes widening in surprise.

"Hiya bathtub cleaner," Harry exuberantly slurs out, voice high and hoarse. "You look veryyyyy-" He draws out very for what feels like ages. "-cute today."

"Thank you?" Louis replied, confusion lacing his voice.

"Of course! I came over to tell you something, actually." Harry smiles at Louis, pearly teeth and cherry lips and rosy cheeks screaming at him.

Louis can't help but play along with whatever Harry is doing. Maybe he's drunk. That's a possibility. "And what did you come over to tell me?"

Harry clasps his hands together in front of him, smiling even wider at Louis, ankles crossed. "I think you're verryyyy scary. You know, when you came into my hotel room I didn't talk much because I was intimidated by you." Harry giggles, cheeks flushed, and Louis has to hold in an eye roll. Certainly drunk. Louis honestly didn't see him as the type to get drunk in the mornings, but then again he's spoken with Styles what- twice? "I was trying to smile at you and be nice but you-you were glaring at me like I had three eyes and horns the whole time." Harry pouts a bit and Louis can't help the small roll of his eyes.

He does find a bit of amusement in Harry's behavior, but no one has to know that.

"I thought you were so so cute." Harry blushes, nervousness now a bit more obvious, looking at a speechless Louis. He has no clue what to say, but he knows this is good. This is really good. Styles already likes him? Has interest in him? It makes his easier version of this job even easier. At this point this is going to be like taking candy from a baby.

"Thank you, Styles. I just have that intimidating look, I suppose." Harry laughs when he sees Louis' smile, his chortle light and airy. It reminds Louis of marshmallow fluff. Sweet and soft.

"Just Harry."

"Pardon?"

"I just go by Harry. No need to call me Styles." He rolls his eyes playfully at Louis. "You sound so serious when you call me Styles. It's really not needed."

Ah. Adorable soul. "Alright, Harry. I'll make note to call you your first name instead."

The boy gives Louis a very awkward nod of his head, then turning to make his way back to his colleague waiting for him across the room. He appears to have been watching the whole interaction between Louis and Harry, brows twisted but relaxed once Harry is back at his side, lips set in a smirk. Louis lets the stare he feels on his back from Harry's colleague slide off his shoulder, ignoring when he glares at Louis when he leaves with Harry, ignoring when the man, right before he steps out of the room behind Harry, flips him the bird.

Whatever. Some random, jealous twat (and jealous over what? Harry talking with another guy for a few minutes? Utterly pathetic if you ask Louis.) means nothing to him. Plus, he'll have Harry wrapped around his finger soon. 

\---

Louis has a wonderful plan. Marvelous. Spectacular. Genius. He would even say the best plan he's had yet- maybe even the best in the world.

It's simple, really. Go to Styles' room, knock on the door and kindly invite him for dinner. He's been in meetings all day (Louis knows from his snooping around- what else would he have done all day?), he'll want to relax, go on a nice date. Louis can convince him to attend the date- he's quite good at that. He knows what to say in response to almost anything. Maybe Louis'll take him to a bar, a restaurant, who knows. The most important part is to lure Styles back to his room. He can convince him, maybe get him a bit tipsy- the boy seems like a lightweight, obviously not opposed to drinking from what Louis saw earlier that morning. Then it's simple- give Styles a drink or dessert that he slipped a pill into (he'll have to get some pills, he really doesn't want to use bleach since Styles would most likely taste it) the dish. Done.

Now Louis just needs to do two things: Get the pills and get dressed in an impressive outfit, one impressive enough to get Styles' attention.

So, first. The outfit.

Out of the hotel and down to his favourite store (the one where they sell everything) Louis goes, knowing how many things are at that store. Surely he'll be able to grab a few things and make his way out quickly, rushing past the flocks of people filling the store, out the door with no one watching. He's a master at shoplifting, if you asked him.

Standing outside of the market, plastic bag in hand, Louis smiles to himself, positive he can do this. He may be over confident with the whole Styles situation (he doesn't think so, but he does know it's a possibility he's being a bit brash), but he knows he can do this, day and night.

When he enters the busy shop he's hit with the cold air from the conditioner, whirring through the large store, making nose all throughout. It's a Saturday, so Louis isn't surprised to see lots of people filling the isles, looking over the items stacked on the shelves, tossing some in their baskets while others simply look and walk away, not finding something that fits their interest or needs to purchase. 

Some random Pop song is ringing through the store, loud and obnoxious in Louis' ears. He hates pop music- really he hates country the most, but pop is right up there with it. His favourite music is 70's-90's rock, and though he doesn't want to sound like one of those people who hate everything nowadays and claim they're born in the wrong generation, he really isn't all about the current music. It's too faux, too many electronic instruments and not enough raw talent.

He ignores the alarmingly loud music, (really why is it so loud?? It's fucking obnoxious. Louis thinks music should be banned from all stores.) walking past the isles of food and heading towards the clothing section where he goes most times when in this supermarket. Zayn usually has enough food for him at home, so Louis doesn't take much from these kind of stores. He doesn't really eat breakfast and lunch is usually some nut bar, dinner being the only meal he eats. Often he'll eat with Zayn at the restaurant, but usually he's at Zayn's place, making himself something easy and quick, not having any skills to make much food. If Louis really wants a snack he goes to the nearest gas station and slips something into the pockets of his jacket or pants, grabbing a pack of fags as well. It's a bad habit to smoke, he knows, but he has no intention of giving it up.

Once he's in the men's clothing section Louis stops, talking a moment to find the section where he's going to find what to wear. Something simple, he settles on, but also flattering and eye-catching. Through the sections of plain shirts (all too plain for Louis' liking- and if they weren't white or black t-shirts they were collared business shirts. There's no way in hell he's about to wear that.) and past the mannequins modeling numerous outfits, Louis finally makes his way to the last section of clothing, jumpers and complimentary jeans placed punctiliously on shelves. Louis lets his eyes roam around the shelves, looking over the various jumpers, colours and patterns popping out.

After reviewing them all he settles on taking a blue and purple knit jumper, soft and warm, ends of the sleeves folded in and pinched together with a thread. He almost doesn't want to wear it, not liking the amount of color and how it might make him look too nice and inviting, but then again that's what he's going for, so he keeps the jumper in his bag. A quick glance over the few different jean colours and sizes and he's picked out some blue jeans, much like Zayn's usual ones, (he really loves Zayn's jeans) comfortable and tight on the butt. Louis is quite happy with his chosen outfit, making sure it's all stuffed into the bag before turning away and out of the isle.

He walks right over to the restroom not but a yard away, into one of the stalls, shutting the door with a click. He then takes off his shirt, puts on the jumper underneath, rolls up the sleeves as far as he can, and slips on the baggy shirt back over it. Now he just looks a bit heavier, pecks possibly more muscular (Louis doesn't have much muscle, but he'd never admit it) and stomach a bit bigger. He then does the same with his jeans, jumping up multiple times to get the second pair over his bum. Lesson learned: skinny jeans do not layer well.

He shuffles out of the restroom, careful to not bump into any workers or suspicious by-passers, looking down at his feet as he walks past. He looks up again, trying not to look out of place as he gets closer and closer to the exit. Looking down once more when passing a group of workers talking, Louis finally sees the exit. He's almost there, it's just in site when-

"Louis?"

A voice from behind him calls out, eerily familiar. Louis really hopes this isn't who he thinks it is.

When he turns around, though, he's met with the person he just hoped it wasn't. 

"Niall."

Niall smiles, rushing over to Louis. "I haven't seen you in ages! You look great." Emphasis on great. Louis inwardly groans.

He really, really didn't feel like seeing his ex today. 

"Thank you," Louis says as enthusiastically as he can. "You as well." 

"Do you want to hang out some time? I've just recently moved in closer around here." Niall's always been blunt and straightforward, so Louis isn't surprised one bit at his question.

Him and Niall were a good pair. They worked well together, Niall such a bright and happy soul, always making Louis laugh and overflowing him with gifts and pleasantries. Most of the time those gifts made Louis feel as though he wasn't enough. He couldn't really gift Niall much, having just gotten out of his house, broke and imprudent, not knowing what to do with his life. They'd moved in together after dating for a short two months, Louis not able to resist Niall's open arms. He never really considered that place his home, though. Niall was fancy, loved the expensive paintings that adorned his ginormous house, loved the lavish lifestyle he lived in, loved never needing to worry about money or jobs or healthcare or anything. Of course, Louis would love to never have a worry in the world, but he didn't feel like he... fit in Niall's house.

In the end, they didn't work out, Louis moving out a month later, but all in all they both had no hard feelings. Louis did feel a bit guilty for some time after they broke up, feeling like he wronged Niall for not expressing his emotions too well or returning gifts to him.

Louis felt most guilty because the boy had told him he loved Louis multiple times, but Louis never told the boy he loved him back.

"Sure," is all he lets out in response. Might as well try to rekindle his relationship with Niall, despite their background. He feels like they could be good friends once more.

"You still have my number, right?"

"Yeah," Louis nods. "I'll call you from one of my mates' phones. I don't really have one at the moment."

Niall doesn't comment, just smiles a bit wider and waves Louis a goodbye, walking off without a word. Louis watches him go, noticing the bleach-blonde look of his hair (a new factor- or at least one Niall didn't have when they were together.) and the long strides he takes, slightly platformed boots making him even more taller than Louis.

He gets out of the store without any other interruptions, the eyeing of a lady with her child the only other minor inconvenience. 

Louis walks, walks, walks, lost in thought of Niall. He hasn't seen or thought about him in years. He'd moved on, recovered, become happy without his boyfriend by his side. He'd gotten fully over Niall, but seeing him today brought a wave of rushing emotions over him. He couldn't push away the regret or guilt, couldn't keep it contained in the back on his mind anymore. He just felt so shitty, robbing Niall of a few months he could be with someone who deserved him.

Out of the three months of them together, heartfelt moments and subtle touches, kisses of affection and laughs full of pride, Louis always felt a twinge of guilt inside of him, growing like a wildfire when Niall would often say those three words Louis just couldn't say back.

Louis gets back to Zayn's place, walking in just to throw off his clothes, burning up from the layers mixing with the hot feeling of embarrassment and shame and the sweat he'd produced from walking back from the store. Zayn's roommate must've left, no one in the house left to bother him as he lays down on the floor, naked all except for his boxers, fringe lain around his head, sticking to the wooden floor. He feels disgusting, more disgusting than coming home after a long football game or a hopeless job interview. More disgusting inside than out, uncomfortable heat coursing through his veins, brain foggy, spewing words of shame right at himself. 

He can't be doing this right now. He needs to focus on getting close to Harry tonight, getting him under his wing so he can do what he needs to. He has no time for this kind of shit: laying on the ground, pitying himself. 

This all just feels so ridiculous to him. Seeing Niall? Agreeing to hang out? Lost in his head on the floor of his mate's home? It's all something he didn't plan to do today. Today is Styles' day. Today is Louis completing his job and getting his money day. Today is date night day. Louis tells himself as he gets up from the floor that today is not time for Niall or reminiscing on the past.

He does a good job of convincing himself that it's okay and he doesn't need to feel guilty about Niall. He does an even better job of telling himself everything is alright and he doesn't need Niall. He doesn't need them, he's totally fine on his own. He's lived years without contact with his family, as well as with Niall. He can stay that way if he wants to; he doesn't need to decide to speak with Niall once more until he feels like it.

He has Zayn. That's more than enough.

Pulling himself together, Louis throws on some random shirt he finds on the couch, along with the jeans he was just wearing (a bit damp with sweat- ew, but whatever), letting out a shaky breath and trying to reassemble his thoughts.

Right. The pills. He knows a place from going there a few years ago, faint memory of that day replaying in his head.

It was just a small job, if Louis remembers correctly. Slip a pill or two into a woman's drink and take her out of the bar and into the truck waiting for him. It was an easy task: he was told exactly where and when to get the pills, what the lady would like to drink and enjoy talking about, how to be sneaky when slipping the pills that would dissolve to the touch of liquid right into her drink, and how to not seem suspicious through this all.

On the afternoon of the drugging, just like this one, Louis had went to the designated place to purchase a pill bottle. He was told to go in, ask for the pills under the name "Kiela Jones", take them from the shop and leave quickly, putting the minuscule pill bottle in his pocket so as not to be seen.

Louis had entered the shop, noticing how there was no bell that rings when someone enters or leaves, taking note of the very tinted, almost black windows and few shelves of alcohol and chips. A container of different brands of cigarettes sat on the counter by the cashier, the smell of marijuana stronger than the smoke from the cigar the cashier was holding in her hand, flicking off some of the ash. Louis remembers the smell like he breathed it in yesterday. He remembers it as though it's the smell of his favourite stuffed-animal he kept for years as a child or the wonderful scent of burning wood and umber that Zayn gives off. The smell of that shop has stuck with him, though Louis has know clue why.

He did as he was told, hesitantly asking for the medicine under the name and retrieving it with no trouble. The woman at the desk didn't say a word, giving Louis an intimidating look before handing over the bottle filled with pills. He left before either of them could say anything, slipping the bottle into his pocket as told and making his way around the corner, hopping in the dark van waiting for him in the alley right next to the shop. Lest to say that experience was shocking and nerve-wrecking, leaving Louis fidgety and nervous until he got to the bar the woman worked at and he couldn't afford to be uneasy anymore.

He simply did as he was told, finishing the job in a short amount of time which was relieving to him, not having to go back to an angry group of criminals and explain why he failed. He now realizes how much danger he put himself in during that situation, seeing as though he was working for and drugging someone for wanted criminals, but at that time he was too desperate to give any of that a second thought.

Now, years later, Louis is back outside the shop, remembering all that had happened those years before. The sight of the shop brought back that frightful night, when a just nineteen year old boy set out to do something he'd never imagined to do. He'd only once thought of what his mother would say if she knew, but once that thought crossed his mind for a glimpse of a second he pushed it away, not wanting nor having the time to think or ponder on such things.

And now he's there again, thinking of what his mother would say. Standing outside of the shop, hesitant to go in, his mind races with the same thoughts they did before. He feels like he's almost reliving that night, the eerie feeling of déjà vu new and odd to him. He brushes the thoughts and feelings off by opening the door, hit with a wave of the scent he remembers from long ago, stopping a moment. He looks around, recognizing how the shop looks almost just as it did before, same old, dusted shelves placed right as they have been for years, the same cashier still smoking a cigar, the same assorted brands of cigarettes placed on the same counter as before. Louis takes another step in, mindful of how odd it must seem- a man standing in the doorway of a rundown gas station where they sell illegal drugs. 

Louis doesn't know much about drug dealers or people like that, so he's not sure if it's odd for them to be selling drugs in a place like this, but he doesn't question it, trusting his past success and experience.

The door swings closed behind Louis, bringing the lady's attention to him. She makes no move to speak or show any emotions on her face, simply looking out of the window before breathing out a puff of smoke into the thick air. Louis takes charge and walks over to the counter, tapping his fingers nervously on it before clearing his throat to speak. Maybe he'll need to get some powder of some sort instead of pills- anything that'll kill Styles will work.

Also anything that can be bought with about 108 pounds. Louis has no clue how much money is usually paid at these kinds of places, he just hopes he brought enough.

"Um- Can I have some... some Fentanyl?" Louis asks for the first medicine that pops into his head.

Dumb. Stupid. He's a fucking idiot. He's standing in front of this drug dealer and just asked for fucking Fentanyl, a fucking pain killer.

"Fentanyl?" The woman repeats back as a question.

Well shit. Now Louis feels dumb. Do they not sell that here? Of course they don't- that's literally a prescribed medication.

Maybe he should just go and get something somewhere else. He doesn't know what to get or where to go, but still.

"How much do you want?"

Thank fuck. Maybe Louis isn't a total idiot.

He stutters a bit over his words, not sure what to ask for. "Like, I don't know a normal months worth amount?" That has to be enough, right? "Sorry for the trouble I'm just not sure what I'm doing."

The lady chuckles. "I can tell. It's no worries, though. I was just surprised at the request since not many people ask for these kind of drugs- I only have this because one of my close mates asked for me to have some in stock and I got a bit extra. This isn't really... like get high type of stuff. It's painkillers and it has pretty large affects if too much is used or it's not taken properly."

"That's kind of the point."

The woman chuckles again. "Alright. I'll go get that for you." She turns and walks away from Louis, behind a curtain and out of sight. Louis hears a bit of rustling before the woman comes back out, bottle in hand. "It'll be 102 pounds."

"Alright, one moment." Louis reaches for the money stowed away in his pockets, pulling it all out to count out enough. He's not sure how expensive the medicine usually is, but he doesn't have much care, content since he has enough money to buy it. It only takes a few moments for him to lay out the correct amount of money and slide it over to the lady, watching as she then moves it off of the edge of the counter, listening as it clinks into some sort of container below the counter Louis can't see. 

"Here you go." She hands Louis the bottle, chipped-nail-polish-covered finger nails catching Louis' eye for a moment, making him hesitate before taking the bottle from her hand. From the little polish that was left Louis can see her nails had been painted a colour of green he adores most. He would say green is the strongest colour because it ignites the new season after the passing of wintry days, the green hue reminding him of sunshine and floral blooms. He had a thing for colour, and though he didn't like being clad in garments with it he did love looking at it. 

He realizes he's spent an odd amount of time standing there, staring at her nails, so he pockets the medicine and leaves the shop, sighing in relief when he knows this is all almost over.

Tonight. Tonight he'll crush a few of these pills and slip it in Styles' drink. Tonight it'll all be finished.

Louis tries to keep telling himself that as he walks back to Zayn's house, not yet feeling ready to go to the hotel seeing as it's only 14:00. He's just hoping this all works, because if not he would've just wasted a whole day. 

He gets back to Zayn's place rather quickly, having jogged half of the way back without even realizing it. He opens the door and flops down on the couch as fast as he can (after closing and locking the door, of course. He's not totally crazy.), watching the fan hung from the ceiling spin around around around, listening to the quiet clicks and whirs of the blades in the air.

He plans on leaving and making his way to the hotel around 16:30, wanting to have time to arrive and prepare his small speech he needs to present to Styles. With the friendly, colourful outfit he chose and his way with words, Louis is sure this night will go as planned.

\---

Louis finds himself standing outside Styles' door at 17 o'clock sharp, smiling was he waits for Styles to open the door and see him. 

Styles opens the door clad in matching pajamas, blue and pink polka-dot long sleeved shirt and matching long pants, a bit too short for his long legs. Louis keeps his smile up as Styles face contorts from confusion, to recognition, and back to confusion. 

"Hello Styles," Louis casually voices.

"Hello?"

Louis clears his throat, running a hand through his hair to draw Styles' attention to it. He's been told his hair is one of his best features, aside from his cheekbones, so he's going to use that for his advantage. He'd say it worked, because Styles takes a moment to look at his hair before drawing his eyes back to Louis' face. 

"What are you doing here?" Styles asks Louis, eyeing him oddly. "Didn't you just clean the rooms?"

"Um... yeah, I did. But I'm here for something else."

Styles waits for a moment, still a bit confused. "And what's that?"

Louis smiles, open and wide. "I just wanted to see you again."

A blush spreads over Harry's face, Louis noticing his pink, flushed cheeks and mentally patting himself on the back. 

"Why?"

Louis lets himself pause for a moment before responding- for the dramatic effect-, looking over Styles once more. He eventually connects his eyes with Styles', noticing the vibrant green, somewhat like the woman's nails from earlier that day. His eyes are so bright and bold, filled with colours of green, many shades and depth incorporated through them. His eyes are ones of the new spring growth, bright and soft all at once. There are flecks of gold, and they look as of the kind of green that comes only as summer advances. Louis isn't sure why, but he starts to think of how beautiful they must look when Styles cries, when his gentleness flows over his cheeks, tears glossing his eyes. 

"Well, because I like you." 

Styles' blush deepens at Louis' words, creeping over to his ears, tinting them to a light pink-ish colour that Louis is pleased with. Styles is already so moved by his words. Good.

Louis expects Styles to respond with a murmur of thanks, possibly a few flirtatious words, but instead Styles responds with, "Well, I'm busy."

And wow, that was not what Louis expected. Maybe it'll take more than a few minor compliments to get him.

"I'm sure you have time for me, do you not?"

Harry shakes his head. "I don't." He smiles at Louis, despite him shutting the man in front of him down in a heartbeat. "I'm busy with work, actually."

"And you wouldn't like a sexy, smart man to help you?"

At that Styles turns a proper red colour, barking out a laugh of embarrassment as his blush intensifies. "I think that'd be distracting."

"What'd be distracting?" Louis asks, toying with the boy in front of him. Just this morning he realized how young the boy must be, surely a few years younger than Louis. 

Styles clears his throat awkwardly, rubbing a bent finger on his nose before answering (well, more stuttering out), "Well- you know... having a se-" He coughs halfway through the word, Louis holding in a chuckle at his obvious discomfort. "a sexy man to help me."

"A sexy, smart man. Don't forget the smart part. I know my incredible good looks can be a bit blinding sometimes, but you can't forget about the brains part of me."

Harry playfully scoffs. "You? Intelligent?"

Louis chuckles, enjoying speaking with Styles more than he expected. "Yes, actually. I'm very smart and wise."

"I don't believe it." Styles crosses his arms in across his chest, smirking at Louis.

"Why? I'm probably the smartest person you've ever spoken with. Hottest too."

"Suuuure, sure," Harry sasses back, drawing out the 'u' in 'sure'.

"If you let me help you with work I may be able to show you how intelligent I am."

"I'm really sorry," says Harry, voice turning a bit more serious, veering away from the teasing side, "but the work I've got isn't something you can help with. It's meetings and shit like that."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"That sucks," is all Louis can think to say.

What now?

He hadn't thought of the possibility that Styles would be busy or in meetings- fuck, he's dumb for not thinking about that. Of course he's busy, he's at this hotel for work for Christ's sake. 

So does he just wait? For tomorrow? A whole day wasted.

"Well- I mean we could like- go out for something to eat later tonight?" Styles asks the question to fill the looming silence, effectively lifting the weight of worry right off of Louis' shoulders. 

"Sounds great." Louis smiles at Styles, hoping he doesn't look as relieved as he feels.

"You don't have work?" Asks the boy. Louis feels interrogated with all of these questions from him, but it's not like he didn't expect it- he assumes most people are talkative until proven otherwise. 

"No, I'm off early today." 

"That's nice."

"Yeah."

Louis looks around the hallway, still standing in Styles' doorway, feeling a tad bit awkward now that the conversation and flirting has died down and lead to them standing in front of each other, not saying much.

"I better get to those meetings." Styles finally mumbles after what feels like a lifetime. Louis knows it must've only been twenty seconds or so, but still.

"Yeah. Good luck. I can... come back here and take you to a pub? I know a good one."

Styles folds his fingers oddly, fiddling with them, letting his eyes fall from Louis' and to his hands. "I- I'm not... I don't like-" he chuckles at his own mess up of his words. "Sorry."

"For what, love? No worries. I myself stutter sometimes, just the nerves and all. I get it."

A look filled with sincerity then grows on Harry's face, a sigh of ease heard between them. "Thank you. It's just- I'm only nineteen, and even though I'm allowed to drink I'm not a big... alcohol person."

See, the boy's age surprises Louis.

It just... doesn't add up.

A nineteen year-old, working at an oil company already? Sure, he's not the manager, but if he's going to meetings that have to do with his job he must have some type of importance. Did he not even go to a Uni? 

Maybe Louis is looking into it too much. Maybe it's not odd for a nineteen year-old to have be significant part of running an oil company. One of the biggest ones in the UK, nonetheless.

He won't say anything to Styles about it, though. That'd raze too much suspicion.

"Oh, my mistake. We can still go to a pub and you not drink, though."

Styles blushes. "Right, sorry. Yeah. Sounds good. Just come back in like- an hour and a half."

Louis smiles, nodding his head at Styles. "Will do. I'll see you in an hour and a half." 

He turns around to leave, an idea popping into his head quickly. He doesn't think much before going through with it, making show of bending down slowly to tie his untied (but really tied) shoelace, taking his sweet time on knotting it multiple times before getting up, sticking his bum out as he does so. He doesn't look back to see Styles' reaction, his uncomfortable cough proof enough that he was still watching Louis.

He walks down the hallway and into the hotel lobby with a smirk on his face, content with the thought that their interaction wasn't a total failure.

\---

Then he's back outside Styles' room, having spent the hour and a half roaming around the hotel aimlessly, earning weird looks from many people he passed by. It was boring, to say the least, and left Louis wandering around, counting down the minutes until he could go back to Styles' room. 

Finally, that moment comes, and Louis knows when it's exactly been an hour and a half because he'd been watching the clock for ten minutes straight in anticipation.

Now he's just waiting for Styles to open the door, having knocked a few times, standing with the same smile as before. 

Styles opens the door, grinning widely at Louis, dimple popping out. It's deep, Louis keeping his eyes on the dimple for a moment before connecting his eyes with Styles'. 

"Hi Harry. How was your meeting?"

"Good, good. Thank you for asking." A short pause comes from Styles before he adds, "Would you like to come in?"

Louis nods. "Yes, thank you." 

Styles moves over a bit so Louis can walk in past him, watching Louis go by as he holds the door open for him with his body. Louis looks around the room, not taking much time to since he's already been in this room, even if it was for a short amount of time. 

"Lovely room," He comments, watching Styles close the door behind him. He takes note when Styles locks both of the locks.

Scared? Or just taking precautions?

"Thank you. It's nice. I've never really been in such a nice hotel."

"Really?" Louis can't help his confused response slip out. He was sure this kind of guy would be going around, staying at all kinds of fancy hotels and going to posh parties.

"Yeah, I've just never... been that kind of person. I feel out of place surrounded by all of these rich people, if I'm being honest." He finishes off with a chuckle, Louis proper lost. 

Is Styles not rich? He's making less and less sense every time Louis speaks with him.

"I get that," Louis mutters, mind whirring, trying to remember as much he can from that file Jack gave him. Styles is rich? He has to be. He goes to meetings and works at a fucking oil company- did Jack not say he's rich? He most definitely did. Louis remembers their conversation clear as day. Not that it matters much, since he doesn't have a phone to express his wonders and thoughts to Jack and he's going to kill Styles tonight, but he can't help himself from wracking his memories, trying to remember the details of Styles and his occupation. 

"So where are we going tonight?" Styles speaking knocks Louis out of his head and back to the boy in front of him, waiting for Louis to take him where he chooses.

"I was thinking a pub where my mate works." They'll go to where Zayn works. Perfect. 

"Sounds good to me."

Louis watches the timid boy in front of him, raising a hesitant eyebrow at him, wanting to see Styles' reaction. 

"What?" 

"Nothing."

"No, not nothing. Why'd you raise your eyebrow at me?"

Louis scoffs, rolling his eyes. If he's amused at the boy's reaction no one needs to know. "No reason at all. Ready to go?"

Harry huffs, seemingly pouting, and though Louis thinks it's sarcastic he can't be for sure. "Fine. I was actually excited for this until you decided to make faces at me."

Louis laughs at that, happy that Styles can't hold in his laugh and chuckles with him. "I was just watching you and... thinking."

Harry smiles at him. "Of what?"

"Well, I was thinking of how pretty your eyes and smile are." 

Styles blushes at that. Again, he's turning a pinker colour. He's always blushing, Louis thinks, always so affected by small compliments and glances. 

"Thank you."

"Shall we go now?" Louis reaches his hand out to grab Styles' arm. He willingly lets Louis take his arm, holding onto his bicep.

"Yeah, let's go." After Harry grabs his key Louis leads him out of the room, holding his bicep once more, squeezing a bit but not too tightly. He sees how flustered it makes Styles, smirking to himself as the boy fidgets by his side. They walk to the pub together, silent all but for Louis' quiet words pointing out shops he likes to go to, trying to seem as interesting and fun as possible. At one point Harry points out the music shop, Louis diving into a speech- a genuine speech about how much he loves that shop, talking authentically for the first time this night.

"I just- I really love the shop," he ends his ranting with an uncomfortable chuckle, a bit embarrassed about his sudden inspired talking.

"Don't worry, I get it." 

They go back to strolling along the street quietly, not having much left to say. 

Soon enough they're at the pub, not needing to talk once entering the loud, busy place. It's always filled with people at night, no matter what day, groups of men watching the football game and drinking beers together, shouting at the table, couples sitting in booths or tables away from the bar. 

"Louis!" Him and Styles look to where the voice came from, a grin breaking across Louis' face when he catches the eyes of the caller.

"Zayn, mate, it's great to see you again." He walks the short way over to Zayn, engulfing him into a (very exaggerated) hug, hoping Styles is watching him. He needs to seem friendly enough that Styles will trust him. When he pulls back from the hug and steps back in line with Styles he's met with Zayn's puzzled expression, giving him a look as to say "roll with it". Zayn seems to pick up on what Louis is putting down, nodding shortly before looking to Harry.

"Hi, Louis' new friend." Zayn smiles at the boy next to Louis, sticking out a hand and gripping his to shake.

"Hi, I'm Harry," responds Styles, shaking Zayn's hand for a moment before dropping it and looking around the pub for a moment. 

"Hello Harry, let me get you and Louis seated at a table. Or would you rather sit at the bar?" Zayn looks between the two guys in front of him.

"A table is just fine," Louis answers.

Zayn leads them to a table for two, walking past groups of people chatting, the noise filling the pub to the brim. Louis watches Harry out of the corner of his eye as they walk together, trying to tell if he’s feeling intimidated or uncomfortable. As far as Louis can tell, Styles is totally fine- beaming, actually. He’s glowing beautifully in the dim lighting of the pub, smiling incredibly bright. It’s as if he’s a toddler who’s just seeing a monarch butterfly or horse for the first time, astonished and intrigued by the simple inside of a British pub. 

“Here you go,” Zayn puts out an arm, modeling the table for them. Then Zayn’s skipping away from them, leaving Styles and Louis to retrieve menus. Louis pulls out a chair for Harry, pushing it in once he’s seated and then taking the seat across from Styles. 

“So, tell me about yourself,” Louis speaks to Styles, starting small talk.

“There’s not much to know, if I’m being honest. I'm quite boring.”

“I don’t believe that for one second.”

Styles appears a bit thrown off by Louis’ reply, taking a moment to think of what to say in response. “Why not?”

Louis answers swiftly, having planned out asking this question and prepared a question and retort for almost every possible response Styles could give. “Because you are far too bright and likable to be boring.”

"I guess it depends on what you think is boring or not." 

"Well, I don't find many people boring. And you, Styles, are not boring." Louis smiles, glancing down at his lap before continuing. "So, tell me a bit about yourself."

Louis expects Styles to easily comply. He expects Harry to start talking right away, smiling when speaking of his friends, boasting about his job, all that stuff that's expected from someone when you ask them of themselves.

But, once again, he doesn't respond as Louis assumes he would. Instead he simply asks, "How about you tell me about you?"

Louis feels like he should do as Styles asks, though he doesn't like talking about himself much at all. He'll have to make up some lies, milk out how interesting he is- or maybe make him look less interesting, say he works at a rich hotel but is poor- that'll surely make Styles soft, right?

"Alright, if you'd like. What do you want to know about me?"

Styles appears to be deep in thought for a moment, looking up at the light above their table. "Anything you think is remotely interesting about yourself."

Louis sighs, suddenly stricken with the feeling of a blank mind and nothing to say, not even able to think of a lie. What's interesting about him again? What's about him? What does he like to do?? He knows he knows- of course he knows what he likes, it's literally what he likes, what himself likes, but he can't seem to fit together a sentence. Louis is on the edge of a freak-out, almost settling on making a lame excuse about needed to pee to plan something in the restroom when he sees Zayn out of the corner of his eye, walking over with menus. Thank whatever gods exist. Thank the devil.

"Here's your menus." Zayn sets two down in front of each of them neatly. "Can I get you started off with any drinks?"

"Water is fine, please." Harry says before handing his drink menu back to Zayn.

"I'll have water as well, thank you Zayn." Louis smiles and does the same as Styles.

Zayn takes the menus and walks away from them, leaving them alone at the table once more.

"So, where were we?" Louis asks Styles, not wanting to get back to the conversation but in no way about to leave Styles hanging.

"You were going to tell me about yourself."

Right. "Right."

"So, fire away."

"Well, I'm Louis Tomlinson, twenty-three, from Doncaster. Lived here my whole life- moved around a bit but always been around the same place. I just started working at the hotel- I think a week or two ago? I'm not sure, actually, but it's been nice.

"I've never had many friends- currently I've got Zayn, but other than that I'm pretty much alone. not that I mind, I actually love my simple life, plus I'm more of a quiet person." The last part is a total lie and both Louis and Styles know it. Neither of them say a word about it, Louis continuing on.

"As for jobs, I've really flitted around almost everywhere. Pubs, small restaurants, gas stations, even random office jobs that didn't require much skill or any degree. And now I'm here, working at the hotel. I actually live with Zayn-" a half lie, but it's not like Louis hasn't been lying this entire time. "-it's really nice, relaxing with him."

"Don't you get lonely?"

Louis laughs, sounding much more bitter than he intended. "I mean, not really. I'm happy."

"Are you really happy though?" Styles looks at Louis with such a sad, disheartening look that Louis almost wants to hug him and wipe it off of his face. Almost.

"Happiest I've ever been."

Louis assumes this'll satisfy Styles, but alas, it does not, and he continues to press. "Are you really? You seem so.... not living your best life. From what I've observed your a social person, one who needs those interactions to thrive. It doesn't seem ideal to only have one friend."

"Well, it is. I'm fine."

"You're not. Aren't you bored? You're not even living!"

Louis rolls his eyes, ignoring the pang in his heart he feels at Styles' words. He's living just fine. He's happy and content. He loves his life. Yeah. "I'm actually living just how I want to. Can we stop talking about this now?"

Just at Louis' request Styles stops, looking a bit ashamed as he folds his hands together and rests them on the table, eyes cast downward. Louis isn't sure why he looks so displeased with himself since Louis wasn't necessarily harsh and Harry didn't do much wrong except let his curiosity get the best of him. It happens to them all. 

A few moments of tension-filled silence later Zayn comes over, profusely apologizing for taking so long (Louis didn't even notice if it was an abnormally long time to get water), setting down their glasses in front of each person. Louis orders then, just asking for fries- at this point it's the only thing he eats at the pub- Styles frantically reading the menu in time to order.

"You don't have to order now, love. Zayn can come back." Louis finally interjects with Harry's stressed reading when the boy looks on the verge of overwhelmed tears. He does not need this boy crying right now; he must make it up to him now, even if he thinks nothing had gone wrong.

Harry just looks up, not saying much, swallowing thickly. Zayn looks over to Louis and leaves at the nod of his head, taking Louis' menu with him.

Louis asks Styles "are you alright?" just as he whispers a faint "I'm sorry." Louis chuckles dryly at the jumble of words taking the moment to speak.

"Sorry for what? Really, I'm the one who should be saying sorry. I never meant to overwhelm or cause you any discomfort."

Styles shakes his head, waving his hands at Louis. He sucks in a breath before responding shakily. "You- you didn't do anything. I just get a bit overwhelmed when I feel as though people are disappointed or displeased with me. Sometimes I get... stuck in my head. Panic a little. It's kind of like- I just spiral and then convince myself everyone hates me."

"Oh. I'm sorry to have caused that."

Harry makes a face of what Louis thinks is close to horror- for fucks sake, this kid can't hide his emotions for anything-, shaking his head rapidly. "No, no, no. I was a little worried and getting riled up when you asked me to stop questioning you- which I shouldn't have done, I'm sorry- but I just got more stressed when I thought I needed to order right then. Fast situations just.... are a little too intense sometimes. Sorry." 

God, this boy. "Harry, love- you did nothing wrong, alright? I'm just uncomfortable talking about my life in general so I was already set off. I'm just not good at taking questions- but you're right, I am a social person. And yeah, it is a bit lonely sometimes. I really didn't mean to be harsh with my words, I honestly didn't realize how strict I sounded."

"I'm sorry," He weakly apologies again.

"Please stop saying sorry. I swear, it's alright."

"Okay." Styles lightly blushes, looking down at his still-clasped hands. "You calling me love helped."

"Pardon?"

"I said, you calling me 'love' helped me calm down some. It's really comforting, actually."

Louis gives him a good smile, not able to help the way he bookmarks that detail into the back of his mind. "I'm glad."

The rest of the date (date? hangout? slightly awkward meal? Louis doesn't know what to call it) goes smoothly, Styles ordering once Zayn comes back to check up on them. Louis tells Zayn in a quick whisper to make sure their food comes out together, not wanting to possibly discomfort Harry in any way. Louis has quickly taken the roll in subtly making sure Harry's comfortable, whether it's the time their food arrives or placing a friendly hand on his arm as they walk down through town.

Louis takes him to a small park, not sure why he'd take Styles here, of all places, but already there and not about to tell the boy grinning next to him that they should go back. Styles seems to marvel at simple things that Louis doesn't see to be astonishing or beautiful, just small things he's around daily or that has lost his interest. It's the opposite for Harry. He loves the pub- any restaurants or pub, anywhere where people are, actually- the feeling of being surrounded by so many different people, the noise of laughter and chatter filling up his head and ears, the feeling of being fully encompassed by others emotions one that makes him grow with pride. 

"Let's sit here." Louis motions over to the bench placed under a small tree, voice echoing through the cool air. He sits, Styles following his actions and taking the spot next to him, farther away than Louis would like. 

So, he solves that issue and scoots closer to Styles, closer and closer until their sides are touching, listening intently as Harry's breath quickens, so subtle that the usual person wouldn't notice. Louis trained himself years ago to pick up on those kinds of things, just like he did with reading people's expressions. 

It's almost all silent for a bit, the little nose coming from the rustling of the branches in the wind. Louis doesn't dare speak, not sure if he and Styles are sharing a moment or not and not wanting to ruin it if they are. Only after they've sat in silence for so long that Louis is about to speak does Styles, voice breaking through the air. 

"Tell me about your family?"

Well... shit.

Louis really doesn't know what to say, opening his mouth to say something, anything, but nothing comes out. In all reality, he hasn't thought much of the people who are in his life in the past two days. He's been so caught up in focusing on Styles and what he needs to do that he hasn't been in his head like he usually is. His more than daily worries and memories of his family and friends have went away, at least briefly, mind too preoccupied to think of the roller-coaster he calls his life.

Right now, it's almost like he's in a false reality. No family, no friends, no going out, no jobs, no normal life. Louis' normal life may not be the greatest, but it's his normal. It's what he's used to, what he understands, what he gets. And his life right now? It's all off when he takes a minute to stop and look at it all. He's so... off. He's so focused on Styles, but why? Because he needs the money? Sure, but Zayn would hook him up with a job in a heartbeat. He knows that. 

So why? Why did he even take this job? The few times he drugged some random rich guys he was told to it was in his years of early adulthood, immature and unaware of so much. It was before he had Zayn, before he'd really experienced anything out of a fucked up childhood, before he knew the consequences of the real world and what opportunities, good or bad lie ahead. Why is he going this far? To kill someone? He knows what kind of damage a death does to someone- does to a family. He fucking knows what that can do to a person.

So why is he even doing this?

He's shaken out of his doubting thoughts when Styles clears his throat, looking at Louis curiously.

"You alright?"

He should just do this. He's overthinking it too much. It's not like he wouldn't have gone far enough as to kill someone a few years ago. He's not about to give up now; it's time to get things done quick and efficiently. 

He can do this.

"Oh- uh. I'm sorry, I got lost in my thoughts for a moment there."

"Yeah," Harry chuckles. "I realized."

He casually runs a hand through his hair, bringing himself back to reality, calming down with a few deep breaths and telling himself he can do this and it'll all be alright.

"Harry?"

The boy turns his head to look at Louis, eyes bright and widened with interest. He's so precious, just a small nineteen year old who knows nothing. Louis doesn't understand it- this boy, rich, condescending, evil, someone wanted dead. How? 

"Louis?" Harry responds.

"Do you want to get out of here?"

Harry smiles, beaming under the night moon (he really looks angelic in any lighting), curls covering his head and placed on his neck so delicately that he looks like a statue, pieces of him placed meticulously to make the most beautiful, perfect figure. 

Obviously Louis doesn't think Harry is the most perfect figure, he just finds pretty people quite pleasant. He is a sucker for beautiful men, but no more than they are for him. He knows he has a job to do, so merely the good looks of a boy won't change what he's here for or how well he'll execute it.

"If you'd like."

And then Louis is grabbing Harry's hand and leading him away, holding him tightly as they walk down the busy sidewalk, Louis not sure where he's heading but walking with confidence. Harry follows him blindly, not having much of a chance with Louis' death grip on his wrist, dragging him down town and back to the hotel.

Louis is a bit surprised at Harry's willingness, letting Louis take him where he wants. It makes him feel in power, leading Styles wherever he'd like. He could take him to the music shop. Or a random diner. Or Zayn's place. Or back to the hotel. But that wouldn't be any fun, would it?

Maybe he will take him back to the hotel. He needs to stop to get some kind of drink, not having slipped the pills into Styles' water, too preoccupied by trying to keep the guy from having a breakdown. Louis exaggerates what happened in his head a bit, but oh well. He's a person full of exaggeration. 

Maybe he'll take him to some fun place- it's not like he knows a good place, but it's a good idea- where they could do fun things. Maybe a carnival. Those are fun, right? 

Most likely not open at night. Plus, Louis hasn't heard of a carnival going on around Doncaster since he was born.

He decides to take Styles to Zayn's place. Sure, he'd be screwed if Zayn came home- he would probably get yelled at if he was caught (Zayn absolutely hates when Louis has people over, especially when he doesn't know. Not like Louis has people over often, but once in a while he'll bring someone he met at the music shop or one of Zayn's coworkers that were off.)- but he didn't have anywhere else to take Styles, so he took the risk.

They arrive, Louis, like the gentleman he is, holds the door open for Styles. He seems oddly impressed by the room, which confuses Louis because the messy, plain room scattered with clothes doesn't impress him one bit. Harry sits down on the couch, sinking into it, not even acknowledging the pile of clothes on the other side of the couch. 

"Would you like something to drink?" Louis looks at Styles lounged out, smirking happily at Louis.

"Sure! Whatever you've got is good for me. Preferably no alcohol, though. As you know."

Louis makes his way over to the fridge, rummaging around to find some kind of drink that’ll be appealing enough to Styles, but has enough flavor- without alcohol- that he’ll drink enough to pass out. Louis isn’t sure what happens if you take a shit ton of pain meds, but Styles’ll surely feel sick enough to pass out or actually get sick. Louis hopes for the former.

He finds some orange juice on the top shelf of the fridge, knowing it’s an odd drink to consume at night but it’s the only drink in there besides beer and tequila. 

“I’m going to go to the restroom real quick. I’ll be back and get you your drink right away.” Louis turns and speaks to Styles, the boy turning his head to watch Louis with his eyes as he talks and then leaves the room. Louis can feel Harry’s eyes on him until he turns the corner, heading out of sight.

He gets to the restroom, sighing with anxiousness. Louis searches the cabinets for something to crush the pills with- there has to be something in there to use-, rummaging around, moving bottles and boxes aside, not finding anything that would be convenient. He settles on using the bottom of a lotion bottle. That'll work well enough.

He pours out all of the pills onto the small counter, moving them all together, pilled as close together as can get. He then takes the lotion bottle in his hand, gripping it tightly as he grinds the pills into a fine powder. It only takes him a few minutes, but it feels like an eternity, Louis feeling incredibly hot, praying that Styles doesn't suspect anything. 

He won't suspect anything. Calm down. It's fine. All good.

Louis finishes with a quick let out of breath, slowly pushing the powder back into the pill bottle. There's a good amount of it; enough that it fills up half of the bottle. He slides the bottle into his pocket, thoughts rushing through his head. He's definitely sweating. Will Styles notice? Probably not. Maybe he will. He will. Will he be suspicious? Fuck, can he see the bottle through Louis' pocket? 

He shuffles back into the room, not looking to Styles. He walks right over to where he'd set the orange juice and glass, shakily breathing. Come the fuck on. Stop being so scared. It's all fine. Louis tells him these things over and over as he quickly pulls the pill bottle out of his pocket, praying to any god, the devil, for fucks sake to his dead grandmother, hoping Styles didn't see that. It seems as though he didn't, because Styles doesn't say a word and Louis successfully mixes the fine powder into the full glass of no-pulp orange juice.

He takes the glass in his hand and walks over to Styles, trying to hold the glass as steadily as possible, making his shaky hands hopefully not as noticeable. Either that works or Styles decides not to comment on Louis' restless demeanor.

"Here you go."

Styles takes the glass. Fuck.

He holds it for a moment. Louis stands in front of him awkwardly, looking like a proper mess, not able to sit down just yet.

Until Styles raises his eyebrows at him, questioning why he's standing and not seated next to him. Louis sits down immediately.

Neither of them say a word. Styles doesn't drink.

Does he know? He can't know. Maybe he does. But he can't. 

But. 

"Why?" 

Louis feels his heart rate triple it's already racing pace, flushed-red face so obvious Styles has to notice.

"What?" Louis tentatively asks. 

"Why are we here together?"

A short pause separates them.

"I just think you're interesting," Louis retaliates.

Harry nods a small one, taking the answer into consideration. It just makes Louis more worried. Nervous. Scared that he might fuck everything up. Scared of Jack. What he'll do if Louis doesn't please him. 

Scared of everything.

"And why do you fancy so much?" Styles inquires, genuinely curious on why Louis has so much damn interest in him.

Louis raises an eyebrow at the man sitting on his bed in front of him, glass in hand that- if he takes a drink of the liquid inside- will end his life. "Well, Styles, you interest me. You're no one like I expected."

Harry chuckles at that, low and raspy. "And what did you expect?"

Now it's Louis' turn to laugh. It feels bizarre to him, this whole situation, standing in front of the man who's life he's going to end and talking to the man about why Louis fancies him. He's scared to the absolute moon and back, but he can't look past the absurdity and almost humorous part of it all.

"I don't know."

For some odd reason Styles seems to be content with that answer, because then he doesn't respond and then he's bringing the glass closer to his lips. Louis watches, feeling terrified as the glass gets closer and closer and then fuck, Louis thinks he might've audibly gasped but it's too late, and then Styles' lips touch the rim of the glass and-

'All I Want For Christmas is You' rings through the room.

And Styles sets down his glass on the table. 

And picks up his phone.

Louis doesn't breathe the whole two minutes Harry talks on his device. He thinks he just about faints when Styles begins to apologize multiple times, standing up to leave.

He's leaving. He didn't drink it. 

Louis sits there like a dead man's corpse. He can't even make up the words to say goodbye to Styles, and by the time he feels well enough to do so the boy is long gone.

What now?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was half of this chapter filler? Yes. Did I add Niall and Louis and Harry's date to make it more interesting? Yes. If that didn't work I'm sorry for boring you with this chapter. I hope it wasn't too boring, though, because I enjoyed writing it lots. 
> 
> (Also, I do apologize a lot but I am sincerely sorry if the end seems rushed. It was, but I hope it didn't seem too much so.)
> 
> (Also x2 I will explain the whole little drunk Harry at the beginning, I know it was kind of weird lmao. I will also bring in the jealous coworker... or is he a coworker ... who knows ... so don't you fret.)


	4. 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to do shorter updates and less frequently than I usually would. I have covid and am really uncomfortable (I don't even know how my dad got it... like no one goes out?? at all?? lmao), struggling because my whole family got it, and overall very stressed. I'm a bit better now, though.

Louis is okay.

Great, even.

He's just scared shitless about what Jack will say. Sure, he still has a day, but he doesn't have any more money to buy supplies and he's almost positive Styles will be busy all day, in meetings or speaking with business people (Louis doesn't know what rich people do. What do they do if they aren't working? What, read magazines? Who the fuck actually reads magazines? Louis doesn't think that should be a thing people do. Seems weird as fuck. Just get a book.).

He curses himself even more once fully awake, not having slept well at all, tossing and turning around on the skinny couch of Zayn's place. He was feeling too defeated and tired last night to walk all the way back to the hotel, lying down with a sigh of discontent. He mostly dreaded having to see Jack, whenever he was going to. He's not going to give up, though, still determined to finish this. 

But... the thing is, he doesn't have any supplies. He doesn't have any more money, having spent it all on their food (Zayn paid for most of it since Louis had already spent the large amount on the pills. Zayn's a good mate, always has Louis' back), not sure what he'll use instead. He doesn't have a gun and is positive Zayn doesn't either. A knife would, like he knows, be too messy, too much blood and screams of pain. 

Maybe he should just... relax? Take a day for himself? He's screwed either way, so he might as well stop stressing and enjoy his last day at the hotel. He didn't even get to sleep in that cozy bed last night. A shame.

He settles on that, leaving his hotel room, double checking the door is locked behind him. Having just gotten back from Zayn's place after taking a long, needed shower, Louis scurries down the stairs, through the hallway and to the room filled with people eating, just like the morning before. This time there's even more of a variety of foods, bagels, pastries of all sorts, crispy bacon, towers of eggs, sausage, maple pancakes, and so much more. Louis can't even see half of the food, the large groups of food covering the other rows behind.

Louis is pretty positive the food is already paid for (it's not like he has any proof of that, but he's going to believe it anyway). If not, he'll have to explain to Jack that Styles eats... a lot. Just a little white lie so Louis can enjoy a meal himself. 

Enjoy himself Louis does. He stuffs himself with enough food to feed a family of five, going back to the table of foods for seconds, thirds and fourths. The amount of judgmental stares he gets is overwhelming, but he tries not to think about it and instead focus on the incredibly delicious food in front of him. Though Louis is almost solely focused on his food, he does look up once and a while to see if Styles has entered the room. Like Louis suspected, he doesn't. Meetings already? Louis thinks so, even though it's early. Maybe that's something rich people do. Have meetings early. Really, it doesn't make much sense, seeing as to the person is rich, so why wouldn't they want to sleep in, enjoy a big, fancy breakfast and then worry about meetings? Maybe that's not something Styles controls. 

Louis doesn't think about Styles' whereabouts for long, his mind moving on to other subjects. One he gets caught up on is the events for the day. He's got nothing on his agenda. He could talk to Jack, but Louis' not sure if Jack'll be home (he'ls probably at work. Does he even have a job?) and would rather not get yelled at, fired or possibly injured today. This is a day to relax.

Since Louis is set on relaxing, after finishing stuffing himself with food, he strolls around the hotel, down the many hallways and past the rooms full of people. On the third floor he sees- well, more like smells- a swimming room. He's hit with the intense smell of chlorine, blinking a few times. The door is open, so Louis takes a peek. There is a large pool in the middle of the room, filled with very few people but noise echoing through the room like there's a party going on with over fifty people. The sound comes from a group of girls squealing, chasing each other around in the pool, and a younger man playing with a little girl, surely not over the age of five.

Then, the man turns around, and Louis realizes it's Styles. He's grinning even more than usual, even wider, dimple more defined. Louis watches him for a moment, observing his fun behavior. Styles is having a splashing war with the little kid, laughing and letting the girl win, dunking himself under the water and coming up asking for mercy.

He spots Louis when the girl runs out of the water, giggling and grabbing a towel to dry herself off. Harry smiles at Louis, waving a quick hand nervously as if he and Louis didn't spend hours together the night before. Louis waves back, biting his lip in a way he thinks is attractive. That's a thing people like, right? Biting lips.

It seems to do the trick, because Styles blushes and looks down, breaking their eye contact.

At the call of the little girl Styles gets out of the water, treading through it to get to her. He dries himself off, shaking his head like a dog to get some of the water out of his dampened hair.

"Hey," he calls out to Louis, looking at him sideways. It reminds Louis of a curious puppy. "How are you?"

"Good. You?"

"I'm good too, thank you. Sorry about leaving you hanging yesterday." He chuckles and runs a hand through his hanging hair. "I know I left rather suddenly and it was kind of rude."

"It's alright, I understand. No worries." Louis tries not to let his disappointment show in his voice. He needs to forget the failure of yesterday.

Styles smiles, diverting his attention back to the little girl who's now tugging on the side of his swimming shorts.

"Harry Harry!! I want to go get food!" The little girl shouts to Styles, voice whiny and impatient. 

"Okay, let's go. We've got to be quiet in the hallway, though. We don't want to disturb others. Can you do that?" The girl nods enthusiastically, looking up at Styles with adoration-filled eyes. Harry takes the girl's hand, leaving the swimming room, turning to wave goodbye to Louis right before turning the corner out of sight.

Well.

Okay.

So...

Styles is with a kid. At a hotel he's staying at for business meetings.

What in the world?

It just... doesn't fit. Doesn't add up. Louis' probably looking into it way too much, but really, who brings a child to a hotel where they're going to be in meetings ninety percent of the time? Who even is the girl? Styles didn't mention her once last night with Louis, but then again Harry was too busy interrogating him.

Louis has got to stop questioning Styles in his head. It's getting tiring. He should either ask Harry himself or stop pondering over useless questions. He's just here to get the job done, not learn about Styles, his life, his activities or the people he spends time with. Louis shouldn't concern himself with that, but he sometimes can't help it. He's a curious person- always has been- and can't help it. 

Louis lets his curiosity get the best of him, like usual, and walks out of the room to see if he can spot Styles and follow him. Louis wasn't that interested in Styles' whereabouts, but once the thought of following him entered his mind he couldn't go back, feet leading him out of the swimming room before he could protest. 

He spots Harry holding the girl's hand, leading her down the hallway and most likely to get breakfast. Obviously. That's what the girl asked for, so Louis isn't sure why he thought of following them. What would he get out of it? Watching Harry pick out foods with a kid? Pointless. 

He follows them anyways.

They go to the room that's now cleared out of most people, just like Louis suspected, picking out dishes and placing them on their plates, taking most of anything that's left. Louis watches creepily from outside of the room, aware of how odd he'd seem if either one of them saw him lurking.

Luckily they don't, and Louis decides to walk away until someone notices him. He doesn't feel like doing much explaining at the moment. Or talking in general.

Deciding that he shouldn't have to do talking, seeing as it's his designated (since this morning) day of relaxation, he heads off to his room. Louis plans on taking a nap, then maybe eating lunch, consuming as much free food as possible, then possibly go out. He's kind of in the mood for a massage, but it's not like he has the money for that, so he might have to dream about a luxurious massage and pretend it happened. Maybe he can coax Styles into taking him on a massage trip. It's likely that Harry'll be in meetings all day, and he won't want to spend time with Louis anyways. At least that's what Louis thinks. Plus, massages are expensive. But, Styles is rich. But Louis can't ask someone to take him on a massage trip (date?) so he settles on the dream.

After a calming nap- one of three hours- Louis groggily heads to lunch, shoving a sandwich down his gullet before leaving the hotel. Not before grabbing a few freshly baked cookies for the go, of course. He ends up going to Zayn's, not knowing where else to go and not having the energy to find somewhere entertaining.

He knocks on the door, not sure if Zayn's roommate is home and not wanting to walk in without permission. Also, the door was locked.

Zayn opens the door, slouched figure looking happy to see Louis, immediately straightening up at the sight of him. "Louis! I've been wanting to talk to you since yesterday. You really need to get a phone, you know. I need to be able to contact you sometimes."

Louis rolls his eyes, ignoring the phone request. Does Zayn seriously think he has the money for that? "Sorry, I was just busy trying to relax. What'd you want to talk about? Hope I'm not in trouble." Louis waggles his eyebrows, obnoxiously crossing his fingers. Zayn waves an arm to get him to walk into the house. Louis follows, shutting the door behind himself before sitting down next to Zayn.

"God, you're so annoying," Zayn retorts, but the words are filled with little malice. "I wanted to talk about this... odd phone call I got. I'm not quite sure how this person got my number, genuinely." He raises an accusing eyebrow at Louis. "But they claimed to be your ex and said that you guys were going to catch up but that you never called him. Care to fill me in?"

Louis sighs. A long one. Mostly because he's not in the mood to explain the whole Niall phenomenon, but some because he totally forgot about his current situation with the blonde boy. Now that Louis thinks about it he doesn't want to call Niall, but he's not a dick so he'll at least give him a ring.

...Eventually.

"He's just my ex I ran into at the supermarket. He wanted to talk and catch up. That's all."

Zayn hums, considering the answer for a beat. "I don't buy it."

A second's pause.

Then, from Louis: "What?"

Zayn laughs at Louis' perplexed expression, eyes panning around the room as to not look at his mate in front of him. "I don't think he's simply 'your ex'. I think there has to be something more. Your ex you want to get back with? Your ex who wants to get back with you? Not your ex, but actually you're current boyfriend? Your boyfriend who wants to break up with you? I don't know, I just don't think he's merely your ex. There's got to be something else, right?"

Louis opens his mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. He has no clue of what to say. He doesn't know what to say to Zayn and what he wants to leave out. Zayn wouldn't be able to tell if he were lying- he's never been good with that- but then again, he just assumed that Niall isn't just Louis' ex, so who knows what he'll be able to see out of Louis. 

"Niall's my ex that I feel guilty about. I don't want to talk about him right now, but to sum it up I feel shitty about our whole relationship and when I saw him at the market I couldn't just- I couldn't refuse to see him and talk. Not right away. But now I have to call him, even though I don't want to, because I'll look like a dick if I don't."

"Yeah. I get that."

Zayn doesn't "get it", but Louis doesn't correct him. Zayn's never been in a relationship besides his current one, which has been going on for years. He's happy and doesn't know what it's like... he doesn't know how Louis feels and hopefully never will.

"I'm going to head out. This is my chill day, so I'm gonna go and try to enjoy it. Not that being here with you isn't enjoyable, but I have better ideas." Louis doesn't, but it's better to say he does than not.

"Alright, mate. Have fun on your chill day." Zayn adds quotations to the words 'chill day', smiling as he does so.

"I will, thank you." Louis leaves with a wave to Zayn, breathing in the fresh air. Nice weather, thankfully. Maybe he will make a stop to the park. 

\---

He doesn't take a stop to the park, instead going back to the hotel and watching movies on the very large television set up in his room, fitting with the chill vibe he was going for. When his stomach starts growling over the words of Rose from the Titanic, Louis goes for supper, seeing as he's incredibly hungry and it's 2000. He usually eats early, so there's no wonder why he's so hungry. Stupid Jack and Rose had him too focused to worry about dinner.

After a quick but thorough dinner Louis rushes back to his room, having had anticipated finishing his movie through his whole meal. Fifteen minutes until the end of the movie is when Louis is disturbed, a light knock sounding on his door. He groans, not wanting to get up from where he was swaddled in blankets, tucked up in his comfortable bed. With another groan he gets up, shedding the warm blankets. He cracks open the door, feeling his mouth fall open at the person standing in front of him.

Styles. Outside of his door.

This wouldn't be such a big deal if Louis hadn't claimed to work at this hotel. It wouldn't be a big deal if Louis wasn't just caught in his lie, staying at the hotel he "works" at.

He's screwed.

Styles doesn't seem to comment on it at all, though. He doesn't mention Louis staying at the hotel, but instead starts to stutter out, "Um- so. I was wondering... wondering if you wanted to, like- just hang out with me tonight. I had a lot of fun last night and want to be together some more."

That was not what Louis expected, but he's thrilled, to say the least. "Of course. Where are we going to go? I think we should go out, unless you had something planned?"

"I actually do have something planned. Let me surprise you?"

Louis nods his head, smiling at Styles, still feeling tired from laying around most of the day. "Let me just freshen up a bit, then we can go."

He does exactly that, brushing his teeth, putting on some deodorant before brushing his hair. He meets Harry in the hallway, letting the boy lead him out of the hotel and into the night. The cold air kisses Louis' skin, sending shivers down his spine. He loves the sweet, fresh weather, excited to enjoy their walk to wherever Styles is taking him. Louis slips his hand into Styles', hoping he's being subtle enough. He feels the boy tense up a bit next to him, footsteps faltering a moment. Louis considers dropping his hand until Styles squeezes his hand, continuing to walk.

"We're almost here," Styles says in a sing-song voice a few minutes later. "Get ready to have the best night of your life."

Louis chuckles, looking over at a thrilled, jittery Harry. "Oh, really? This better be good."

Styles looks over to Louis, looking into his eyes with a smile. "Trust me, it will be."

They get to the place quickly, Styles running to get in, a grin taken over his face. They get into an open bar, stage set up with a drum-set, piano, mic stand and electric guitar. Fifty or so people are scattered around the room, some at the bar ordering or sipping drinks, some sitting in the front row, waiting for the music to start, and others standing around socializing.

"Okay, this is really cool."

Styles grins, going over to the seats, still holding Louis' hand. "I knew you'd like it. Just wait until everyone arrives. It's going to be great." They sit down together, metal chairs tough against their backs. "Oh! I almost forgot. Would you like a drink? I can get you one from the bar."

"Erm, sure. Surprise me. I'm not picky with drinks."

Styles shoots up out of his seat, almost skipping over to the bar and ordering drinks with a cheery voice. Louis watches him from afar, feeling a bit infatuated at his lively character and enthusiasm to surprise him.

Moments later Harry is back with drinks, handing Louis something called the 'Dirty Dancing' and telling him to take a sip.

"I bet you'll like it. I didn't ask what was in it, but I asked the lady for something she thought a hot hotel worker would like and she got me this."

Louis chuckles, taking a sip. The drink tastes of strawberries and vodka, a hint of some other flavor Louis can't pinpoint stuck in the back of his throat. "Am I really that attractive? I mean, I know I'm good looking, but am I that breathtaking?"

Styles smiles, responding in an amused voice. "Yes, you are. Now, is this considered our second date?" He asks, a smirk playing on his lips.

"I didn't know we had a first one."

"Oh, don't mess with me like that. Last night? If that wasn't a date, I'm not sure what is."

Louis thinks for a moment, planning out what to say to push this boy's buttons, running a mindless hand through his hair as distraction. "I'd consider that more of a... relaxed hangout, per say. But whatever floats your boat."

"You sound like my grandmother."

Louis rolls his eyes. "Then I quite like your grandmother. Can I take her on a date instead?"

Styles pauses for a moment before: "She's dead."

A surprised look takes over Louis' face, his mouth hanging slightly open, "I-I'm sorry," is all that he can stutter out.

Harry chuckles lightly, not much of a look of sadness on his face, but more one of playfulness. "It's alright. She's been gone for a while and I'm not hurt talking about her or anything. She'd like you a lot."

"You think?"

Styles nods, the corner of his mouth lifting back up. "She liked any boy I hung out with- said they're all cute and I deserve happiness like that. I was always her favourite, that's what she told me at least."

Louis hums, ignoring the flutter of guilt at the words of Styles. Of course he deserves happiness, but. Louis can't not do this. He just has to.

"She seems very nice. I'm sure we'd get along lots. We could talk about you together."

"You'd talk about me? I was sure you'd talk about your life or... cologne or something like that."

"Cologne?" Louis responds in question.

Styles laughs, light and airy. "Yeah, like there's those guys who obsess over how they smell and just love colognes. They'll talk ages about their favourite brand, which is bad quality, which smell the best, stuff like that. Have you never met someone like that?"

Louis shakes his head, a bewildered, perky look on his face. "I think you're the only one."

"My school was filled with those guys, even though they were all broke."

"So I'm like guys from your school? Or at least you thought I would be?"

"Well, yes but no. I thought you'd be a cologne guy, but not like the ones at my school. They were all pricks and homophobic, which of course I didn't think about you. You're one of those nice cologne guys."

"I guess I'm nice, but I'm surely not a cologne guy. I don't even wear cologne."

Styles' eyebrows shoot up at that. "Then what do you wear? You always smell wonderful."

Louis feels himself blush at the compliment, cursing himself over that fact. He shouldn't be blushing because a boy commented on how he smells, for fuck's sake. His body is so annoying sometimes. If only he could control his blushing.

"I wear soap? I don't know. I use this spray my Mum got me ages ago, have been using it for years. I'm not even sure what it is, if I'm being honest. Maybe it is cologne. But I think me not knowing what it is and having worn the same kind from the same bottle for years makes me not a cologne guy."

"I agree. Not a cologne guy."

A steady stream of people have been entering the bar throughout their conversation, the band now coming out to set up their things. One man with a blue and pink dyed beard begins to tweak with his guitar strings, the sound of tuning sharp in Louis' ears.

"So, can you tell me about your other family members?" Louis asks, not wanting the conversation to end just yet. This could be his last time talking with the boy, for all he knows. Tomorrow, once he talks with Jack, he could be fired... or worse. Louis doesn't let his mind roam and think of what 'worse' could be.

"Um... sure. Just so you know, I might go into a rant about my family. I get kind of really talkative when I get on the subject of family and people I like. Family's real important and a big thing for me."

"Yeah, I get that. It's not the same for me, but I understand."

Styles smiles at Louis, green eyes bright and enthusiastic. "So, I'll start off with my family I used to live with. I just recently moved out, actually. First, of course, my mum and dad. Mum's super kind and ambitious, always encouraging my siblings and I to do what we love. She's always been like, super close with me. She and my sister, Gemma, fought a lot, but I think that's just because they were so similar and their personalities clashed. They don't fight as much now, and I think that's because Gemma's moved out- she did years before me- so they don't have to stomach living together.

"Dad's more closed off, less obvious with his emotions, but is still really loving. Mum's always been the one who blatantly expresses her and Dad's love for us, my dad a little... less. He still loves us lots, though. Don't get that wrong. He's quieter, but gets really loud when we have family gatherings and activities. He's obsessed with football, swears he could watch it for hours. I enjoy playing footie, but I'm not good. At all. You'd think my long legs would be helpful, but really I'm too clumsy and they just get in the way. If you talk to him about footie, he'll automatically love you no matter what."

Styles sighs, barking out a chuckle. "Am I talking too much? I feel annoying."

"No, no. Not at all," Louis reassures Harry with a kind smile, hoping the boy will continue to talk. He's interested in hearing Styles, wanting to know more about him. 

"Okay, good. I just don't want to bother you."

"You're not, I promise you. You never do."

Harry doesn't say a word about the 'you never do' comment Louis made, simply moving on to the topic of his siblings. "So, I'll start off with Gemma because she's my favourite and the one I've already mentioned. Gems is real sweet, just a ray of sunshine. Nice and positive like my mum, but she never sugarcoats things. She's an artist- went to Uni for it- and paints a lot of exquisite things for rich people. One time she sold a painting for like, I don't know, twenty-eight thousand dollars. It was really cool. Bonus points of her being an artist is that I get paintings and little nick-knacks for free. Well, sometimes free, but I always get a sibling discount.

"Then, we've got my brother." Styles takes what Louis would consider a 'dramatic pause' before continuing. "We aren't... on good terms. Haven't been for a while. Some bad shit went down between us a year or so ago and I haven't seen him or spoken with him since. So, yeah. Touchy subject, the one of my brother." He chuckles dryly. "Why am I even talking to you about this? I'm sorry, I should've kept the conversation light-hearted and not gotten all serious."

Louis shakes his head. "It's fine, really. You're talking to me because I asked, silly. I don't mind seriousness."

"That rhymed." Styles grins.

"Sorry?"

"You said 'It's fine, really. You're talking to me because I asked, silly.' and that rhymed." His grin grows, dimple popped, eyes crinkling.

"Oh god. You really are a toddler at heart."

"Yes."

"I fucking knew it."

Harry tilts his head to the side, filled with giddy and glee. "You know me so well."

"I don't think I'd go as far as saying I know you 'so well', but I think I've gotten the jist of you."

Styles leans in a bit, smile still stuck on his lips like it was glued there. "You know more about me than a lot of people do."

Louis leans in as well, their faces a few inches apart. He lowers his voice to more of a mumble. "In a day and a half? Most people mustn't know a lot."

Styles tilts his head to the right angle that, if he'd simply move some inches forward, his lips would fit perfectly with Louis'. "Most people aren't you. You're so easy to speak with."

Louis smiles, eyes flitting down to Styles' lips. He forces himself to look away while also holding his tongue, willing himself not to do something he'll regret. "I'm flattered. I didn't realize I'm that interesting."

Harry makes a face, one of pondering, before laughing at something. Louis isn't sure why he's laughing, but he joins in, chuckling quietly. The feeling of Styles' breath fanning out on his own cheeks is something he never thought he'd experience, but now that he has he'd like to again. Maybe he will. Probably not, though. Maybe Louis'll get in one more moment to feel Styles' laugh before it's gone. He hopes he can. 

"It's not the interesting part of you that I like. Of course I like that part of you, but almost every person can be interesting." Harry takes one of his bubble-gum pink lips in-between his teeth, biting down on it lightly. Still looking at Louis. "You're sweet. And a good listener. And really fucking fun. You're just... you make me feel like I can talk about whatever I want to and not be annoying. It's stupid, I know, because I've hung out with you only twice in the span of two days, but I plan on spending many more days with you. Usually I lose interest in people quickly, or they do with me. Usually people tell me I talk to much or I'm too expressive or I laugh too loudly or shit like that. But, it's just not like that around you. I hope to expand on that feeling as we continue to spend time together. Don't think you're going to get away from me this soon, Tomlinson."

A sour feeling pools in Louis' stomach, a lurch of his heart heating up his body. He prays it doesn't show on his face. His masking of emotions has been off a bit lately. Not good since he's lying to Styles' all the time, which, even if he hates to admit it, has an affect on him and will show if he's not careful. 

Before Louis can respond with thanks Styles brings a hand out, fiddling with a piece of his fringe, shutting him up even if he wasn't trying to. He lets it go a second later, but Louis feels his hand there for the rest of the night, not able to help it. He's also not able to help when he watches Styles during the whole concert, rather than the band playing in front of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and Kudos make me very happy :) I apologize for any grammar or spelling mistakes I finished this chapter late at night and didn't review it as much as I normally would. okay that's it; have a good rest of your week!! All the love <33


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